Faults
by Starliteyes17
Summary: Stanford AU. For decades, scientists have been saying it's a matter of when, not if, the San Andreas Fault will falter again. When it does, CA will lie in ruins, millions of lives will be lost, and chaos will prevail. In 2004, those predictions came true.
1. Prologue

_Author's Note: Here goes another multi-chapter story! I haven't done one since November, but this has been stewing in my mind for a while and finally felt ready to be written. FYI: This story is a gift for my fellow SFTCOL(AR)S member, Maygin. (I know you didn't ask for it sweetie, but I promised to return the favor, so here is the beginning of the story as promised! I hope you and everyone who reads enjoys.)_

_Disclaimer: I own nothing you recognize._

_Summary: Stanford AU. For decades, scientists have been saying it is a matter of when, not if, the San Andreas Fault will falter again. When it does, it is thought that not only would the entire coast of California lie in ruins, but millions of lives would be lost, and mass chaos would prevail. In 2004, their predictions came true. _

_---_

**Faults** by Starliteyes17

---

Sam wiped at his eyes, trying once more to decide if he could call it quits. He'd been studying his Common Law textbook for hours in preparation for his mid-terms. But the last thirty minutes had only been spent staring at the same page, trying fruitlessly to sponge the sentences beneath his eyes from the text into his brain.

Yawning, Sam rose from his desk and stretched, spinning on his restless legs to face the window of the apartment. Looking down upon the street, Sam watched as a young girl in a Stanford jacket whizzed by on her bicycle, a shoulder pack resting against her hip. Probably on her way home from the library, Sam guessed, checking his watch. It was nearing two in the morning, but for some people that was still early, as far as preparing for finals went.

At least he'd gotten some studying in, he supposed. Usually, he had trouble doing any homework or class preparation at home. Jess had a tendency to do that to him. Unlike Sam, she had an uncanny ability to never study at all and still ace her exams. This made her not quite so patient in the days before major tests, when Sam would practically dig an early grave trying to ready himself. Like Dean, she just didn't understand what all the fuss was about.

"You _know_ all this already, Sam," she'd say to him. "You never skip class, you take the most tedious notes of any boy I've ever met, hell, you even study _just in case_ there's a pop quiz the next day. So, tell me: why can't you just let go a little and come see a movie with me instead? I promise your textbooks won't run away while we're gone."

To say the least, Jess could be distracting. Not that Sam usually minded, not really. Looking away from the window and over at the desk where a framed photo of a smiling thirteen year-old Jess had her arms around her older sister Jamie, Sam realized that he didn't actually mind at all, at least not right now.

In fact, right now he missed it. Because at this moment Jess was back home in Maryland, visiting the same sister she was hugging in the picture.

Sam didn't just miss her bugging him; rubbing at his eyes again, he realized he needed it. Sam couldn't remember a time when he'd lived without an affectionate annoyance in his life. _Not_ having someone there to pull his head from a book was weird, and as much as he claimed it bothered him, he'd also come to rely on that presence. It was comforting, and created in him a familiar feeling he'd known since childhood.

Sam shook his head and sat back down at the desk, trying to gather his thoughts and focus again. He had to get back to studying, if he wanted to pass that test tomorrow. Just because Jess had finished her mid-terms already and had gone on vacation, leaving Sam alone to fend for himself without her cajoling, didn't mean he could slack off now that he was on his own for a while. But then why did his eyes keep straying away from his book and back up to that picture? As much as Sam had Jess on his mind, there were many other pictures of Jess he was far fonder of that surrounded him. Looking between Jess and her sister, Sam couldn't help but notice that Jamie's eyes weren't on the camera lens. Her eyes were on Jess, and her gaze seemed to be both affectionate and watchful in nature.

Taking a deep breath and leaning his head against the palms of his hand, Sam wondered if it wasn't Jess he was really missing, after all.

Without thinking too hard about it, Sam abruptly stood up and made his way to the small front room of the apartment. Grabbing only the extra key that lay on the wooden border around the door, he pulled on his jogging shoes and entered the hallway. Before long he found himself prowling the sidewalk.

The October night was quiet and beautiful, the calm but clean air exactly what Sam needed to clear his aching head. Sighing in appreciation, Sam set on a roundabout path towards the Stanford campus, weaving his way up and down the now familiar streets. As he walked, he did his best to think only of how nice the solitude was, and how Jess would be back in only a week, and how his exams would conclude with tomorrow's Common Law final and then he'd be free from worry for a while.

Though his feet were leading him away from the apartment, Sam found his mind wandering back to it. In particular, Sam was thinking of the picture again, and who it had reminded him of. At the moment, he was feeling so unusually optimistic that he even began to pull his cell phone out, intending to call Dean. It'd been over a year since they'd spoken one another, as the last time they'd seen each other in person hadn't exactly been a pleasant experience. But Sam had a feeling that if he contacted Dean now, this very second, Dean would somehow understand and they could find a way to patch things up.

He was looking through his contacts, had just scrolled past _Alexis Valdez _and _Greg Webb_, and was about to click on Dean's name when he felt a jolt pass through him. Instinctively, he dropped to a crouch, surveying the area around him, looking for predators, human or other. But when the second jolt hit him, Sam realized the predator wasn't above ground, it was_ below._

Without warning, the mere jolts from before morphed into a solid shaking. Sam felt the unsteadiness beneath him growing with every tremor, and was barely able to think _earthquake_ before he was lifted off his feet and hurled to the pavement.

Dazed but still coherent, Sam covered his head as best he could. Daring to peek through his arms, Sam watched in horror as the place he called home began to crumble to pieces all around him. He barely had time to roll out of the way and towards the yellow middle lines of the street as a large section of concrete and debris from the nearest building broke apart and crashed onto the concrete below. Sam felt he was floating upwards, not sitting on the ground as the brick and steel structures surrounding him began to collapse in on themselves, the roofs that had stood tens of feet above the streets minutes before now resting mere inches from the ground. Though Sam couldn't actually hear them for all the shaking, he thought in his uncomprehending mind that he could feel the screams of the people of Palo Alto crying out as they were woken up by the shaking.

In his terror, Sam could even imagine the utter silence that would follow as their cries were cut short when their homes fell on top of them, crushing and trapping them.

Entombing them, like giant coffins.

Even through the tremors, Sam could feel his own body trembling as it involuntarily curled into a fetal position in an effort to protect itself from the horrors both outside and within. In all his years, through all of his hunts, Sam had never known the true meaning of absolute terror until now.

The shaking was only getting worse, the noise of it deepening, but when sometime later Sam heard the sharp crack, everything around him seemed to fall silent. He knew the earthquake hadn't stopped; he knew it because he could still _feel_ it. But it was like someone had muted the sound, turned down the volume on everything except for a sharp snapping sound steadily gaining in both intensity and degree. Through his shock, Sam glanced up towards where he thought it was coming from, and watched as the pavement of the road he lay on seemed to break down the middle. Like ice on a frozen lake slowly cracking with the promise to shatter, a giant crevice that split the road was coming towards Sam, an omen of doom and destruction. In shock and unable to move, Sam crazily wondered if it was somehow targeting him; perhaps this was not an earthquake at all, but Hell and all it's demons coming to claim earth for themselves instead.

In his unhinged state, Sam found himself desperately hoping this was just an earthquake, because if Hell _had_ broken through to reach the surface of the earth, anybody with the last name Winchester was sure to be at the top of their hit list. Any other time, the idea would be ludicrous, but right _now_? Like a mad man, Sam detachedly began to giggle.

As the crevice finally reached him, the ground beneath his body greedily opening to devour him whole, Sam idly mused he was going to be the Winchester the vengeful demons got to first.

Then he wondered nothing at all.

----

Dean felt himself being shook awake, but not in the usual way. Despite his six beers consumed mere hours ago, Dean was on his feet, knife in hand and ready to attack before he even knew what he was supposed to be gunning for.

As the slight tremors racketed up through his body, hardly noticeable except to someone trained to notice such oddities, Dean walked over to the window and glanced out, expecting to see some large truck passing by. When nothing but darkness greeted him from the street outside his motel, Dean shook his aching head and walked back to the bed, intent on getting some rest again. He did have a hangover to sleep through, after all, and if he was sick enough to be trembling, then the sooner he rested the better.

But just as he was about to lie down, he happened to glance at the glass of water on the table, and noticed the water inside of it was trembling as well. So it wasn't just his him, unless he was hallucinating.

A fear began to consume Dean that he hadn't felt in a long time. Not fear for himself (he hardly knew such a thing), but fear for someone he cared about. He tried to shake it off, but the feeling seemed to grow, just as the small tremors did. They were still little, probably hadn't woken most others up yet, but they were getting worse and Dean was scared.

Not knowing what else to do, Dean sat on the bed and turned on the television. It was nearly three in the morning, and most channels weren't airing anything but static now, but Dean had a feeling if he waited long enough someone would come on-air and explain what the hell was happening.

At a little past three fifteen, nearly twenty minutes since the shaking had subsided, Dean wasn't disappointed.

He only had to hear the words _earthquake_ and _California _before he was packing and running to the car, keys in hand.

It was on the radio as he passed the large billboard that read "Thanks for visiting Santa Fe!" that he began to hear more words that only increased his worry. Words like _aftershocks _and _incomprehensible damage _and _warning signals_, like _eight point two_ and_ catastrophe _and _death toll unknown_ and_ worst natural disaster in recent history. _

And though he heard it all, only one word echoed over and over in his head. It was the most important word he knew, a name more cherished than his own.

As he drove on, still unable to fully comprehend where he was going or why he was heading there, Dean knew only one thing for sure: he was going to find Sammy. But he couldn't help wondering if a name, was all that he would have left to hold on to when he did.


	2. Chapter One

_A/N: Thank you to everyone who took the time to review the prologue! I hope this chapter lives up to your expectations! And now to let the fun truly begin..._

**Faults **by Starliteyes17

Chapter One

---

Something was trapping Sam's eyelids. They were stuck together, and he couldn't open them. He tried to wipe it off with his hands, but for some reason only his right arm was getting the message.

Even that small movement tired him out, however, and he promptly fell back into the awaiting darkness, though not without a sense of accomplishment.

---

Dean tried Sam's cell three times, and every time it went to voicemail. Dean didn't know what to think about that, so he decided not to think about it at all.

No matter which way Dean sliced it, the drive from Santa Fe to Palo Alto would be at least fifteen hours. After a quick inward debate, he decided to drive south to Albuquerque and get on Interstate 40, which could take him west through all of Arizona and into California. Once he got that far, he'd figure out the rest of his route to Palo Alto.

Driving on I-25 to Albuquerque, Dean desperately wanted to listen to one of his tapes, but found that keeping the radio on was too important. All radio stations had coverage, but the information Dean was able to find as he flipped channels was vague at best. Most stations kept saying they'd update the public as information came in, but in between only were able to talk about what the San Andreas Fault was (a meeting of two tectonic plates on earth's surface which rubbed against one another, set right along California's coast) and how scientists had been saying for a long time something like this was going to happen (a predicted 70 chance that between 2000 and 2030 an earthquake like this would happen). What was crazy to Dean was that by the sound of it, people had known about this. Though he hadn't heard much about San Andreas before, Dean didn't doubt that Sam had learned about it somehow, probably before he'd ever been admitted to Stanford. Dean couldn't believe his ears – people _knew_ this would happen, and still let others live there? What were they thinking? What had _Sam_ been thinking, moving there in the first place?

Dean swallowed. It didn't matter what Sam had been thinking. All that mattered now was that he was okay, and that Dean was going to find him. Then they'd get the hell out of there.

Eventually a deep-voiced man from one of the stations came on and said it straight. "Here's the deal, folks. We're having trouble gathering any information on the tragedy in California, because there is simply no where to find info right now. The nearest coverage of the event we can get is from Fresno, which unfortunately lies in the heart of California, and not on the coast where it appears the worst damage occurred. And this damage is precisely _why _we can't find anything. We're hearing from all sources that it sounds like power lines, radio and television and cell phone towers, dial-up internet connections – nearly every form of contact has been obliterated by this earthquake, especially in the center of where it occurred, which appears to be the San Francisco Bay area. Despite this, President Bush has declared a national disaster for the entire state of California. As we speak, there are thousands of government officials – members of the Army, Marines, and National Guard, just to name a few – who are working their way to the center of the disaster area. Wait – wait a moment – we have just been issued a report from the White House urging all those who have family members that may be in danger not to come to the coast. I repeat, if you want to find out word on your family members, and are considering coming to the California coast, please stay where you are. It appears that no civilians will be allowed past certain checkpoints."

"Fuck that," Dean muttered to himself, switching stations.

Just then, Dean's cell phone rang. Dean didn't even bother checking who it was, just picked it up and asked desperately, "Sam?"

"Dean, it's Bobby."

Dean sighed, trying to quell his disappointment. "Hey, Bobby."

"Listen, I just heard what happened in California. You finished taking care of that coven in Santa Fe, right?"

"Yeah, finished it up last night," Dean answered, turning down the volume on the radio. "I'm about a hundred fifty outside Albuquerque, almost to Arizona right now. Should get to California around – "

"Dean," Bobby interrupted. "You can't get into Palo Alto right now."

"I have plenty of badges and IDs, Bobby; I'll find a way – "

"I'm not talking about the checkpoints, son, although those will be something of an obstacle. I'm talking about the destruction itself. I just heard on the television that everyone has to be flown into the epicenter of the quake, because every road in a two hundred mile radius is damaged beyond what any car, hell even any army tank could bypass. They got these pictures now on the screen from a mile above San Fran, and there ain't even any buildings standing. I just don't know..." Bobby trailed off.

"Don't know what, Bobby?" Dean asked, though he feared the answer.

There was a pause. "I don't know how anyone could have survived, son. It looks like Hiroshima down there right now."

Dean's jaw clenched. "Yeah, well, San Fran ain't exactly Palo Alto, Bobby. Maybe it's not as bad there."

"Maybe," Bobby replied, though he didn't sound like he believed it. "Hey, you talked to your daddy yet?"

"No," Dean said, relieved for the change in topic. "He's been tracking that wendigo in Wyoming for two days now, and he thought it'd take at least five or six before he was done. No cell phone coverage 'til he gets back to Buffalo. He probably hasn't even heard about what happened."

"I called and left him a message about it, figured that might be the case."

"Thanks. I'll give him a call too, soon as I know more," Dean said, letting _whether it's good or bad_ go without saying. All the same, he figured Bobby probably heard the implication.

"I'll call Jim too, find out if he has any contacts that can get you more inside information," Bobby finally said.

"Sounds good, Bobby."

"Dean... you sure you prepared for this?" Bobby asked tentatively.

Dean licked his lips, and glanced over at the passenger side seat for a second, before answering, "Doesn't matter if I'm ready or not. I'm going to find Sammy no matter what it takes." Dean paused. "Hell, the kid's probably just fine, sitting in some bomb shelter or something as we speak, drinking down a beer with some of his buddies just waiting for me to come get his ass out of there," he said teasingly, though inside he felt nothing but dread.

Bobby didn't even spare a chuckle. "When you find him, you bring him back to South Dakota, you hear?"

"Will do, Bobby," Dean said, then promptly clicked his phone off, only to shut it off entirely a second later. There was only so much awkward conversation he could take each day. He'd check for messages soon enough.

---

The second time Sam Winchester woke up, it was to throw up. He was already spitting up half-digested food before he even fully came to awareness. After a few minutes where he let his stomach settle a bit, Sam began to slowly turn over onto his back from his side. Sam peeled open his eyes, wiping at them with his right hand. The hand came away sticky, and Sam recognized the feel of congealed blood on his fingers.

"Concussion," he murmured to himself.

Despite the pounding in his head, Sam was coherent enough to take stock of his situation this time. Either he was suffering some vision loss, or it was very dark wherever he was. He tried to think about how he had gotten here. He'd gone for a walk, he knew that... and then something bad had happened.

Right then a tremor ran through the cold floor beneath Sam. Before he could even process the memories that came to his mind he was trying to curl up into a fetal position, trying to protect himself from whatever danger was coming for him. This time, however, the shaking lessened after only a couple moments.

As though the tremor had unlocked part of his memories, Sam instantly recalled what had happened. An earthquake had unleashed itself across all of Stanford. Probably all of Palo Alto and beyond that, Sam thought to himself. Sam had a sudden vision of the road breaking apart and swallowing him. Wiping at his eyes again, Sam slowly and painfully sat up and looked around.

He was definitely underground. The sound of dripping echoed in his ears, and running water not far beyond that. It was a cement tunnel of some sort, the walls dark and dank, the atmosphere less then comforting. But it was the smell that really told Sam where he was – oppressive and thick, the aroma distinctly like a toilet; Sam realized he'd fallen beneath the road and right down into the sewer.

Upon this realization, Sam glanced up, expecting to see the California sky above. After all, the road had split, hadn't it? How else had Sam gotten down there? But above him, all Sam saw was a ceiling, albeit a torn up and jagged one that looked like it could give at any moment.

It must have caved in, Sam realized, staring up at it, dumbfounded. He'd been _buried_ by an earthquake, and he was still alive.

As if to remind him of his continued existence, Sam's left arm gave a harsh throb, and Sam turned his head to look at it. It'd been a while since he'd seen one, but Sam could tell his left shoulder was dislocated. Unsure what else to do, Sam began to take stock of the rest of his injuries. He was bleeding from a gash across his forehead which had run into his eyes, and had thrown up earlier, which meant he had a concussion. Definitely a dislocated shoulder, and though his entire left arm was numb and he couldn't feel them, Sam could tell he also had two broken fingers on his left hand. Just sitting up had him out of breath with pain before, and lifting up his shirt Sam saw heavy bruising across his right ribs. Cracked, he guessed, but probably not broken. Across his lower back Sam could see the beginning of a wide tear, and feeling it with his right arm, Sam guessed it was about four or five inches long and an inch deep. It had obviously bled quite a bit at first, but Sam had landed on his back when he fell through the crevice, and luckily the pressure of his own body on the gash had helped to decrease the bleeding to a mere trickle now.

It was when Sam's eyes finally reached his legs during his assessment that he was truly horrified. Because instead of seeing his feet, all Sam saw was a pile of rocks and concrete boulders. It was as though he legs just disappeared at his knees.

For a wild second Sam wondered if in fact his legs had been amputated by the debris, and he was just in too much shock to realize it. But then he instinctively tried to move his toes, and yeah, that hurt like a mother. Sam cried out and began breathing hard, trying to quell both the pain and his rising fear.

Oh god, he was trapped. His legs were _trapped._ He couldn't move. He couldn't get out. And nobody was here to help him.

Breathing hard, Sam tried to calm the panic attack before it could take hold of him entirely. He tried to remember that despite his predicament he was still alive, and that compared to most people near the earthquake, that probably meant he was the lucky one. After all, if he'd been in the apartment at the time, he'd have most likely been crushed to death by the heavy debris. Their apartment building was at least fifty years old, Sam guessed, maybe even older, and never would have withstood the earthquake, not when all the buildings on the street where Sam had been hadn't.

Jess was still in Maryland, thank God, but...

"All those people," Sam whispered to himself. "All my friends... please, no..."

As quickly as he could, Sam turned his head to the side and threw up again. He wasn't sure how much it had to do with the concussion this time, though.

Sam's morbid train of thoughts was broken by the sound of a shrill beeping. Sam started, the sudden movement jarring his ribs and making him gasp, but quickly recovered and tried to look around. As spontaneously as the beeping had appeared, however, it disappeared, and Sam was left alone again.

His eyes tearing up in frustration, Sam couldn't help but wonder if, in the face of his own impending death, his mind had created the sound in an effort to give him some hope. Because that beeping had sounded suspiciously like the message waiting on Sam's cell.

Laying back down again exhaustedly, Sam couldn't help but admit defeat. He was alone, injured, and trapped.

So yeah, Sam was still alive, but for how much longer?

---

The closer Dean got to California, the more real, intense, and desperate the situation became. With every passing mile, the road across the I-40 divider going back east was getting more and more filled. As Dean continued listening to the radio, he realized these were refugees making their way from the earthquake area and any potential aftershocks.

It was ten hours before Dean came to his first checkpoint. He'd just passed Needles, which was right inside California from the Arizona border. The check point was on both sides of the interstate, and as Dean saddled into the innermost lane, he could see clearly on the other side people getting stopped by military personnel on their way _out _of California. He supposed that was so the government could get an accurate recording of all the number and maybe even names of those leaving.

On his own side, the one going into California, he saw that the majority of the vehicles going past the checkpoint were vans or armored trucks. On either side of the interstate road were parked cars, which he assumed was where the personnel left their personal cars before going through the checkpoint in the government vehicles.

Slowly, Dean slid into a parking spot, parallel to the grass ditch by the divider. Quickly, he turned to the back seat and began packing a duffle with only the most necessary items: a gun, extra clips, his favorite knife, flashlights, a small bag of salt, a flask of holy water, water bottles, an extra pack of peanut M&M's, one change of clothing, his homemade EMF, one pack of secured explosives, a lighter, his wallet, his keys, his cell phone, a map of California, and a map of Stanford/Palo Alto that he'd taken from his brother the night before Sam left.

Fingering the Stanford map, Dean marveled at his own genius. "Knew I'd have to bail you out eventually, Sammy," he murmured, before stowing the map in the front pocket.

Lastly, Dean grabbed the ID he'd need and exited the car. Throwing the duffle over his shoulder, he took one last look at his girl, his home. "Sammy and me'll be back soon, baby," he whispered, caressing the hood affectionately before turning to the main checkpoint, a small plastic tent set up right by the makeshift gates.

Dean walked up to the front of the tent, but was stopped when he saw a figure crouched on the ground, looking through a bag. Giving the person a closer look, he saw it was a beauty of a girl, a leggy blonde. Dean considered talking her up a bit, maybe getting some extra info, 'til he finally focused on her face, and saw she was crying. She didn't look like military personnel at all to him, in fact she looked downright lost, and he felt a sudden altruistic need to comfort her (the fact that she was still a leggy blonde, Dean reminded himself, had _nothing_ to do with it.)

He tapped her on the shoulder, and when she glanced up at him through startling blue eyes. "Hey," he said softly, "what's wrong?"

"I'm trying to get back to my apartment, but they won't let me in," she said, sniffling a bit. "I was on vacation out east, wasn't supposed to get back for over a week, but then I heard about what happened and took the first flight to Flagstaff I could find. I _need_ to get back there. My boyfriend..."

Dean put his hand on her shoulder. "Listen, I know how you feel. I have a brother somewhere in there too."

The girl bit her lip. "I just need to see for myself, you know? He hasn't called, and it's been nearly twelve hours since it happened, and our apartment is so close to the epicenter, not even thirty miles away from San Francisco where they were hit the hardest."

The girl (well, woman, really, she was probably at least twenty, but to Dean any crying lady was just an innocent girl) wiped at her eyes, trying to cover her tears. Dean didn't know what to say. The girl would need proper ID to get through, and although Dean liked her, he didn't have any time to help her out the way he knew best: by evading the law. There was only one way he could help her right now, given the situation. Dean put out his hand. "I'm Dean."

The girl looked at his hand, confused, but smiled when she shook it. "I'm Jess."

"Well, Jess, I know you don't know me, and I know you have no real reason to, but trust me on this: everything is going to be all right. I'm sure your boyfriend is fine. I can tell you that nobody in there is having an easy time of getting through to their families. I'm sure he's in some makeshift shelter right now, just waiting to get out of the area and back to you. Hell, maybe he's already getting out of California, just like all the others on the opposite side of the divider. The best thing for you, though, is to make sure you're somewhere he can get a hold of you and find you."

Jess didn't say anything, just looked hard into his eyes. Whatever she saw there must have been what she was looking for, because slowly she nodded.

"Okay?" Dean asked her, and when she nodded again he gave her a small hug. "Everything will be okay, you'll see."

After a couple moments she pulled away, and Dean took that as his cue to leave her. But just as he was about to reach the tent –

"Dean!"

Dean turned to face Jess, who was striding up to him. Carefully she pulled a small notebook out of her purse and a pen, quickly scribbled something on a piece of paper, before tearing it and putting it into his hand.

"Here's the name of my boyfriend and our apartment address, as well as my cell number. If you... if you get a chance, do you think you could go check it out? I know you'll be awfully busy, but..."

Dean smiled at her, folding up the paper and stuffing it into his pocket without looking at it. "After I find my brother, I'll make sure to check it out, I promise."

Jess lips turned up; it wasn't quite a smile, but it looked hopeful and appreciative. Dean took in her expression for a moment, before merely nodding and turning away. Dean was sure if he'd stood there any longer he'd have kissed her for how beautiful she looked right then, someone's girlfriend or no.

Without a last look at Jess, Dean entered the tent. In front of him was a long table surrounded by men in camouflage. On the table lay a couple computers and countless papers and documents. Against the tent wall sat a dry erase board that appeared to list the times of both incoming and outgoing traffic. To the left of the tent was another opening where white vans and guys in protective white suits stood, as though just waiting to depart.

With as much confidence as he could muster, Dean walked up to the front of the table.

"Eric Bloom, US Environment Protection Agency," he announced with authority, handing his ID to Army Dude. Army Dude looked it over, before handing it to Army Dude #2 who was sitting next to him, who in turn looked over the ID. Army Dude #1 looked back at Dean.

"What outfit are you scheduled to travel with, sir?" he asked cynically, looking over Dean's torn jeans and ragged button-up shirt.

"Vehicle 3 at 15-45," Dean answered, remembering the schedule on the board. Glancing at his watch, he added, "Looks like I just made it, huh?"

Army Dude #1 looked at Army Dude #2, who shrugged before handing Dean the ID back. "Looks good, sir. Please go out the door to your left. There you'll be able to gear up and prepare to head out."

"Thank you," Dean said, smirking at Army Dude #1 before going out the door. Walking around a bit, he found the stash of plastic suits that everyone seemed to be wearing out here, and quickly threw one on, though he had yet to put up the hood and face cover. Looking down at himself, he was reminded of the movie _ET_ when the government alien guys invade the boy's home. Yep, he looked just like them.

"Boy, you better get the rest of your gear if you're planning on going out with us in two minutes," a voice said to his right.

Dean turned to face the man, or at least he thought it was a man. The person was completely covered in the suit, and Dean couldn't see their face at all for the mask.

"Oh yeah, I'm just about ready," he said, pulling on the safety belt, then the oxygen mask, before hooking up the connected tank to his waist. He pulled down the plastic face mask and zipped it up, before looking back to SuitMan. "Do I look ready?"

SuitMan chuckled. "Sure, son, you look ready. Come on, let's get in the truck."

Grabbing his duffle, Dean and SuitMan piled into the back of a white truck, along with about eight other Suits. Once all ten were in, the doors closed and soon enough Dean could feel the truck moving, out past the gates and on further into California.

Dean turned to SuitMan. "If you don't mind me asking, where exactly are we going?"

SuitMan swiveled his head to Dean, and although he couldn't actually see the surprised face, he could feel it. SuitMan shook his head, before answering, "We're going to San Jose, kid. There's some serious HazMat clean-up that needs to get started pronto there. But you should already know that."

"Oh, oh yeah," Dean reassured quickly. "I just had a brainfart, is all. Speaking of which, uh, what's HazMat again?"

This time the balk of SuitMan was less then subtle, even underneath all the plastic. SuitMan sat for a second, before leaning into Dean's face, so they were practically mask to mask. "Here's the deal, boy. You're an Environment Agency official, specifically a member of the HazMat team – Hazardous Materials, that is – and your job is the cleaning up of any chemical wastes that are dangerous to humans, animals and the environment whenever a disaster like this occurs. Our crew – Crew Three, which is connected to Checkpoint 325 stationed outside of Needles, California on I-40 – is scheduled to do some HazMat securing in San Jose for the next 72 hours. Now I don't know how you got through that checkpoint, and I don't really want to know, but if anybody asks that's what you tell them."

With that, SuitMan turned to sit straight again, then leaned back against the side of the truck, as though exhausted. Dean could see by his body language that he was more then a little irritated that someone was sneaking into the disaster rather then getting away from it, but it appeared as though he wouldn't tell anyone as long as Dean kept his cool.

"Thanks," Dean said to him. "And don't worry, I'll be out of your hair soon enough."

SuitMan chuckled, and if Dean had been able to see his eyes right then he would have realized that they were a unique shade of black. "Somehow I doubt that, boy. I doubt it very much."

---


	3. Chapter Two

_A/N: Wow, the response to this has been amazing, better than I ever hoped! Thank you again for all the lovely reviews!_

_And now, we continue with our regularly scheduled programming..._

_---_

**Faults **by Starliteyes17

Chapter Two

---

The heat in the back of the van was unbearable after the first fifteen minutes, and the moment Dean saw one of the HazMat team members take off their mask, he did so as well. After unclasping his oxygen mask underneath the hood, Dean turned to SuitMan.

"So, how long do you think it'll be before we get to San Jose?" Dean asked him.

SuitMan turned to him. He still hadn't taken off his mask. "I'd venture a good twelve hours, maybe longer if the road gets a lot worse."

Dean looked out the small back door window of the van. "It seems fine right now," he said, shrugging.

"Well, yes, but for now we're still over six hundred miles away from the center of the earthquake, in San Francisco," SuitMan answered. "And we still have over five hundred miles to go before we reach San Jose." SuitMan leaned into Dean again. "Honestly, I'd be surprised at all if we make it that far."

Dean's eyebrows pulled together, all traces of light conversation vanishing from his tone. "What do you mean?"

SuitMan pulled away, shrugging. "Like I said, the roads are bound to get worse. It's a matter of distance, not time. Right now, where we are, the road is still fairly intact. But it's a complete disaster not even three hundred miles away. The roads are torn up. Chemicals are leaking from businesses, plants, facilities, homes. If we're desperately needed somewhere, and if the road gets practically impassable, we're going to stop, at least for a while."

Dean licked his lips, then whispered, "I need to get to Palo Alto as soon as I can."

SuitMan chuckled mockingly. "Son, you're not going to get to Palo Alto anytime soon."

Dean's head turned viciously, his eyes throwing daggers. "I'm going to get there. I have to. Not getting there is _not_ an option."

SuitMan, appeared to laugh again, though Dean couldn't hear it. After a moment, he pulled off his hood, then his oxygen mask. Well, Dean had been right about one thing; SuitMan was, indeed, a man. He looked to be about forty, give or take five years. He had dark brown hair that was styled into a crewcut. When he turned to look at Dean he was smiling amiably, but Dean also had the feeling he was being analyzed, considered, maybe even studied, in a way that made him uncomfortable.

The feeling fell away, though, when SuitMan stuck out his hand. "Name's Rick Seaver, from Phoenix, Arizona."

Dean took the hand. "Eric Bloom, Lawrence, Kansas."

Rick lips turned up. "That your real name, or the name you're using today?"

Dean bit the inside of his left cheek. "What are you saying, dude?"

Rick chuckled. "Okay, _Eric_. So, tell me, what's so important in Palo Alto, that you have to get there?"

Dean licked his lips and looked down at his shoes. "My brother lives there," he mumbled.

"Ah," Rick said. "I see. Well, for your sake then, I hope we get to San Jose. Like I said, though, I don't think that's going to be the case."

Dean said nothing, turning away. It didn't matter how far he got in the van, not really; they could stop right now and he would start walking.

Well, at least until he found another, faster way.

Because he was finding Sammy. Anything less was failure, and Dean Winchester did not fail. Not in something as important as this.

Dean dozed for the next eight hours or so. He kept waking up as the van hit potholes, and then hardly slept at all as the road became considerably bumpy. But if his Dad had taught him anything about sleeping, it was to sleep when you had the chance. And Dean didn't know when he'd get another anytime soon, so for now, he did his best.

When the van finally stopped, it was at another checkpoint, this one in Bakersfield, California. While everyone else in the back hopped out to use the bathroom and grab some food from one of the tents, Dean pulled out his map of California. After eight hours, and they were only halfway to San Jose. They'd only traveled three hundred miles in that whole time? Dean knew the road had gotten worse, but it couldn't be that bad already, could it?

After ten minutes or so everyone gathered again to enter the van, but just as they were about to climb in, one of the military personnel at the checkpoint stopped them.

"Listen, we've just received word about a massive bridge collapse about thirty miles down the interstate, folks. Looks like you'll have to bunk here, at least for the night. I can direct you to a sleeping tent area, but there will be no going further until they get the mess cleaned up and find an alternate route."

Dean balked. He was not staying here. As everyone else began gathering their things from the van, Dean desperately asked, "Is there any way to get farther tonight? I'd really like to help any way I can, with the mess, and, er, everything."

"I'm sorry, sir," the official said. "But it's just not possible. I suggest you take this small break and use it wisely, though. Get some rest. We have some temporary shower stalls set up over to the left of the sleeping tent as well."

"No, you don't understand," Dean continued. "I _really_ need to keep going, as soon as possible. I need to get to Palo Alto by sunrise, at the latest."

The official shook his head. "As I said, it's not a possibility. You'll have to wait it out just like everyone else – "

"I will _not _wait it out!" Dean said, his voice rising. "There are people dying out there! Hell, my own bro – "

"Excuse me?" a small, petite voice interrupted Dean's rant.

Both Dean and the official turned to face a small Asian woman to their side, looking between the two of them. Neither Dean nor the official had noticed her, she had been so inconspicuous as she had ventured toward them. The woman looked to Dean.

"Did you say you'd like to get to Palo Alto, young man?"

"Yes," Dean answered after a moment, somewhat suspicious.

"Well, I can help you with that," the woman said, smiling. "Myself and a small group of EMTs are heading out that way in about fifteen minutes, but one of our party is on a later transit and won't be here in time. We have an open seat, if you'd like it."

Dean gaped at the woman, but that was followed almost instantly by him grinning like a madman. After a beat, and before he could stop himself, he picked up the lady and gave her a bear hug. "Thank you! You really have no idea how much – "

"Don't mention it," the lady managed to get out, her voice tight from being squeezed so intensely, but still friendly.

Dean immediately set her down, biting his lip. "Uh, sorry about that, it's just, this really does mean a lot to me."

"Sugar, believe me, I wish everyone was as eager to help people in a disaster as you seem to be," the lady said. "By the way, my name is Amelia."

"Eric Bloom," Dean replied, not missing a beat. "I'm with the EPA. I'm supposed to be going to San Jose with a crew to do some chemical clean-up, but they're stopping for the night due to the road."

Amelia appraised him for a moment, before tentatively saying, "Yes, that bridge down the highway collapsed, I heard. One of the aftershocks. Such a pity." Amelia swiveled, beckoning Dean to walk with her.

A thought occurred to Dean then. "Uh, how are we getting there, if we're not taking the road?"

Amelia grinned, looking away from Dean. Anxiously, he followed her line of sight.

"Oh, _no way_," he groaned. Directly in front of him was a helicopterAmelia continued to walk forward, and after a couple seconds Dean begrudgingly followed her. "You're buying me a _lot_ of peanut M&M's for this, Sammy."

---

Sam tried to stay awake as the hours slowly rolled by, desperate to figure out how to save himself from his predicament. But both his concussion and exhaustion worked against him, and he spent most the next twelve hours in a doze, hardly aware of anything around him.

Every so often he'd be shaken awake by aftershocks, but none lasted as long as the original earthquake had, and few reached any level of intensity besides mere annoyance.

The few times Sam was fully awake, he devoted to developing a plan. So far, he only had one thing figured out: _Form a plan of escape_.

"No shit, Sherlock," he said to the darkness. He'd taken to saying his thoughts aloud now. Somehow it made him not feel quite so alone. Plus, it helped keep him from drifting off – it was almost as though he was having a two-sided conversation, and he had to keep responding to the "other" person's ideas.

Already, he'd nixed a couple of ideas, most of them lame. He'd tried screaming for help for a while, but when nobody came after the first half hour and his voice went hoarse, he gave up on that prospect. There wasn't even an opening in the cave-in above him, so the chances anybody would have heard had there even _been _people around weren't too likely anyways. Another idea had been to pull his feet out by sheer force, but after three attempts and one short bout of unconsciousness due to the pain, Sam threw that one out the window as well. Or, at least, he'd save it for when he was a little more desperate then he was now.

The only plausible idea that kept cropping up in his head over and over was starting to push the rocks off his legs using his good arm. However, any wrong moves on his part and the whole fragile structure could come toppling down on him. Looking up at the huge boulders perched above his head, Sam was reluctant to even make an attempt at it. But it was an idea all the same.

If he let himself think about it logically, he knew he'd have to face the fact that no help was coming for him, and if he couldn't save himself, he was toast. But that was the problem, wasn't it? He _couldn't_ save himself – he needed help, and he knew it. But Sam was a Winchester, and Winchesters by definition didn't think logically. They thought instinctively.

Unfortunately, all Sam's instincts were telling him was that he needed to escape. And so Sam's circle of thought went, though it was punctuated by slight reprieves in which Sam dozed and pretended none of this had ever happened. Dean hadn't been wrong in his teasing during their teenage years; Sam could dream with the best of them.

_Sam opened his eyes. It was morning; sun was filtering through the curtains. For a moment he considered getting out of bed, maybe going for a run before class. He glanced at the clock; instead of the 6 AM he was expecting, it read 10:10. _

_Sam panicked for a second, stumbling onto his feet, when Jess breezed into the room, still in her nightgown._

"_Sam," she laughed. "It's Saturday, remember?"_

_Sam sat for a second, thinking. "Oh, yeah. Yeah, I guess it is."_

_Jess sat on the bed next to him, rubbing his back. "You do that nearly ever week, you know that? It worried me at first, but now it's just amusing."_

_Sam smirked, then grabbed her around the waist and pulled her down onto the bed, so she was lying on her back. Slowly, he lowered himself down next to her, an elbow resting next to her blonde curls and his cheek against his palm, so his head was directly above hers. "Is that why you keep me around? Because I amuse you?"_

_Jess grinned playfully. "Well, that and you have the uncanny ability get the door open for me every time I lock my keys in the apartment. But mostly 'cause you're amusing, yes."_

_Sam leaned farther over, so their noses barely brushed. "Anything other reasons?"_

"_You willing to try and give me some more?" Jess asked mischievously, biting her lip._

"_I'll do my best," Sam whispered, then every so gently he leaned all the way, pressing his lips to hers, his arm curving to caress her neck, and for a moment he felt so happy, he'd found what he wanted, this is what he'd waiting for, he'd finally found it – _

Sam's eyes snapped open. Gone was his apartment bedroom, the sun in the curtains, Jess in her nightgown. Instead, it was replaced with an almost overwhelming darkness, a cold chill, and a now familiar shaking sensation.

"Another aftershock," Sam mumbled, deciding to wait it out. As if he had a choice.

But this time the tremors didn't let up; in contrast, they kept increasing in intensity. Before Sam knew what was happening, the rock around him started slowly shifting. Small pebbles and rocks the size of his head alike began to roll down the pile of debris that trapped Sam's legs. Covering his head, Sam felt a tingle move up his spine; this was it, this was the end, any second now a sharp rock was going to hit his temple and that'd be it, he'd be dead, this nightmare would be over –

"Ah!"

Just as Sam predicted, something _had_ hit his head. But it hadn't felt sharp; in fact, it didn't feel like a rock at all.

Sam barely noticed the tremors begin to subside as he looked all around, curious as to what exactly had bounced on his forehead before landing on the sewer floor.

A beeping sound greeted him to his left, and Sam turned to see – no, it wasn't possible, Sam couldn't be that lucky, no way –

"My cell!" Sam cried, barely feeling all his injuries and aches as he leaned over with his right hand to grab it. As his hands wrapped around the small plastic item, Sam yelled out in pure joy and rolled onto his back again, lifting the small device to his lips and kissing it.

"Oh, thank God, thank you God," he said, staring at it once more, hardly able to believe it was real and not a hallucination. But his moment of happiness was overshadowed as he gave it a closer look. His cell phone was _on_, yes, but the buttons at the top – the ones you pressed to OK a decision or to send a call or text – were all completely smashed. "No, no, no..."

Desperate, Sam began to press the buttons over and over, to no avail. The phone acted as if he'd done nothing, just stayed on its sleep mode screen, the one that kept the phone on in case anybody called, but didn't fully activate it.

Feeling hopeless, the joy having left as fast as it had come, Sam pressed the cell phone to his forehead, trying to hold back the tears. His one means of salvation, and it was just useless enough so as to be useless to him.

But, wait a second... Sam replayed through his thoughts the last minute.

"Wait a sec," Sam said, pulling the phone away from his forehead to look at it. It was still on, but on its sleep mode screen, _the one that kept the phone on in case anybody called..._

"Yes!" Sam cried, happily. Sam always kept his phone on an any-key answer; so if someone called, he'd still be able to pick it up – he'd just have to press one of the unbroken keys.

"So I can't call them, but if they call me I can answer," he murmured to himself. Giving the phone a closer look, he realized also that along with the broken keys, the rest of the top of the cell was smashed as well – he doubted he'd be able to hear the voice on the other end at all, even if they did call. "But they will probably be able to hear me..."

For the first time in what felt like forever, Sam had hope again.

---

Dean left Rick and the rest of the HazMat crew in Bakersfield. Now, he found himself among a much more talkative group of EMTs. Instead of partaking in their lively conversation, Dean had spent the first few minutes of the helicopter ride humming Metallica, trying to calm his nerves. But after a while Amelia, who was seated next to him, started to take notice.

"_Unforgiven_?" she asked him.

Dean opened one eye to look at her. "Yeah," he answered. "Helps keep me cool and, uh, collected."

"Not much of a flyer, I take it?" Amelia asked playfully.

"Not really," Dean admitted. "How long do you think this'll take?"

"Not too long," Amelia answered. "I'd bet we'll be there within forty minutes, tops."

Feeling adventurous, Dean leaned over slightly to glance out the window. Quickly he pulled back and turned to Amelia again, who was outright grinning at him. "Where are we, you know, going to land?"

Amelia's face turned suddenly grim. "The Stanford Medical Center was what we were hoping for, but we just received word that the hospital didn't survive the quake. However, those doctors, nurses, and other brave souls who managed to stay safe have set up a makeshift medical area in a nearby park across the street. We'll be landing there."

"And what will you guys do from there?"

"Well, my team will be making ourselves available to those who need help, of course," Amelia explained. She carefully turned a narrow eye on him. "What are your plans, Eric?"

Dean paused, not sure how much to tell. Thinking of Amelia's kindness, though, he decided to take a leap of faith. "I want to help everyone, I do. But there's someone I have to find first."

When Amelia only looked at him questioningly, Dean continued. "My name isn't Eric Bloom. It's Dean, Dean Winchester. I don't work for the EPA. I don't actually really have a paying job at all." Dean paused again, looking away, not able to handle what he was sure was her disapproving scrutiny. "But, my brother, he goes to Stanford. And I haven't been able to get a hold of him at all since the quake. I need to find him. It's... it's all I can think about."

Amelia was quiet for a moment, and for a half-second Dean wondered if he'd judged her wrong; what if she demanded they turn around now, and take him back to Bakersfield and into custody?

"Darn, I was hoping you name was at least really Eric," Amelia said. Dean looked back up, to see her looking into his eyes, a small smirk on her face. "I get it Dean, I do. I didn't actually think you were an EPA officer, you know. In my experience, nobody that works for the government is that desperate to go help others in need, after all."

Amelia chuckled, and after a moment Dean's lips turned.

"Now, that doesn't mean I approve of you lying and all," Amelia added, "but I knew right away when I saw you that you had a good heart. And in the end, that's all that really matters to me when it comes whether I should put a little faith in a person."

Dean smiled slightly, but when he realized what it was – genuine, and not just an act, and how dare he smile when Sammy might be dead? – he felt bad immediately. "I'm not the one with the heart of gold, Amelia. The things I've done, said..."

"Like what, sugar?" Amelia asked, putting a hand on his shoulder.

Dean licked his lips, breathing deep. It'd been weighing him down like a ball and chain, and he knew if he didn't get it out now, he might truly break apart before the end. "My brother, you know? There was this big fight between him and my dad before he left for Stanford, and then right when he was about to leave for good, he turned to me, and asked if he could call me after, y'know, things cooled down. And I, I said that probably wasn't a good idea. We haven't spoken in over a year, and when I heard about what happened..."

Amelia's eyes were tearing. "What, baby?" she whispered to him.

Dean's jaw clenched. "When I heard, all I could think about was that I never apologized. He might be dead, he might have died thinking that I never wanted to talk to him again, when in reality all I've been able to think about this past year was if he was doing okay, if he even wanted to talk to me, and if he did, if he wanted too as much as I wanted to speak to him and see him again." Dean stopped to take a breath, schooling himself for the rest of it. "And if he's dead now, I'll never forgive myself. Sammy made mistakes too, we all did, but he was just following his dreams, and I never even told him that underneath my anger, I understood that and loved him for it. What if he died thinking I hated him?"

As Dean turned sorrowful eyes to her, Amelia lifted a hand to cup across her mouth, before pulling Dean into a hug. "Oh sugar... if there's one thing I know, it's that if your brother has indeed departed, bless his soul, then the love you have for him will reach him up in Heaven too."

Dean closed his eyes and leaned into the embrace, so reminiscent of his mother's hugs. He was thankful for just one moment where he could share the load, let someone else be strong for once. But he allowed only a moment, before gathering the strength back into himself, and pulling away.

"Maybe," he said, though he didn't really believe in Heaven. He'd seen too many horrors, learned too many hard truths, to let God carry his burdens for him.

Amelia seemed to sense the disbelief in his tone, but said nothing, only patted him on the shoulder once more. "You'll find him, Dean. I know you will."

"I hope you're right," was all Dean said, before closing his mouth and turning away. He stayed silent the rest of the trip.

---

Sam was thirsty, very thirsty. He licked his lips once more, tasting the salt, and wondered how long it had been since the earthquake.

"At least a day, maybe more," he whispered, his voice cracking on the words. The part of his cell that told the time was unreachable due to the broken buttons, but Sam guessed it had only been about four hours since he'd found the phone. In that time, nobody had called. He could see, however, that he had eight messages. But unfortunately, he couldn't access those either.

He imagined Jess, sitting in Maryland, hearing the news and waiting to hear from him. His heart wept for her, thinking of how scared she must be, not knowing he was still alive. And what about his Dad, and Dean? Had they heard the news? Did they wonder if he was all right? Did they care?

"Stop it, Winchester," Sam chided himself. "Dean's probably already tearing half the city down looking for your lazy ass."

Sam laughed at his own joke; Dean didn't have to tear half the city down, it'd already been done for him! Although, the image of Dean even setting foot on a college campus, albeit it a probably desecrated and ruined one, was hard to believe. Then again, there wasn't anthing –

"Dean wouldn't do for you. And you know it," Sam mumbled, his voice getting weaker.

The room had started spinning not long ago, and Sam had half-considered checking his head and back wounds for any more blood leakage, but after another moment the thought had drifted away like all the rest.

Sam was humming _Hot Blooded_ by Foreigner when the mother of all aftershocks hit. Sam barely registered the room was spinning more then usual before he heard a sudden burst amidst the usual aftershock noise he'd come to expect.

Turning his head lazily to look down the short, caved-in tunnel, Sam saw that a section of the cement wall had busted, and a steady stream of sewage water was now surging into the compartment.

"That can't be good," Sam said casually. For a couple minutes he watched the water, remembering a time when he was six or seven and Dad had taken him and Dean to Blizzard Beach in Florida. Sam had been afraid to go in the water alone, but like always when he was ever afraid, Dean had taken his hand and promised him they'd do it together.

"Where are you now, Dean?" Sam whispered, watching the water slowly claw forward towards him. Sam was confused; he knew he should be scared, he knew the water was bad, but for some reason, he couldn't remember why. All he knew was that he was alone, and he didn't want to be anymore.

"Dean, Dean, Dean," he called out.

Only Sam's echoes answered him.

---


	4. Chapter Three

_A/N: Thank you for all the lovely reviews for chapter two! I apologize for not responding individually to them; it's been hectic couple of days and I figured another chapter was more important to you guys anyways. Hope you enjoy this newest addition._

**---**

**Faults** by Starliteyes17

Chapter Three

---

Dean was the first one out of the helicopter when it landed. He didn't look out the window again after his first attempt earlier, but upon exiting the sliding hatch and getting his first glimpse of Stanford, he wished he had, if only to be prepared for the carnage that he'd face when they touched ground.

All around him people were running around, frantic but with determination. Some were wearing white coats, most looked to be wearing pajamas of some sort, and still others walked around so wrapped up in blue recovery blankets that Dean couldn't even tell if they were wearing shoes or not.

What scared Dean the most, however, was that no matter what type of outerwear everybody was wearing, they were all dressed alike in other ways: all were clothed in fear, panic, and blood.

Dean felt a hand settle on his shoulder and shivered from the contact.

"Come on, let's go find out where we can learn about your brother," Amelia said, guiding him. With a deep breath, Dean tried to ignore all the chaos and followed Amelia forward, leaving behind the rest of the EMTs who were unpacking supplies.

Dean didn't know how Amelia knew where she was going, but he didn't really care either; he followed her all the way to a giant white tent about fifty yards away. The place was filled with hurt people lying on cots and blankets, and Dean barely had to glance to tell that only the most grievously injured were being treated here.

As Amelia sauntered up to what looked to be the makeshift information desk, Dean couldn't help but look at every face he could see. He didn't see Sam though, and he didn't know whether he should be relieved or concerned about that.

"Dean," Amelia called to him, beckoning him to come up to the table. Glad to have a distraction, Dean stumbled over.

"Yeah?" he asked hopefully. Amelia didn't answer verbally, just held out a large, stapled stack of pink paper. Dean took it in his hands, and glanced over it. "A list of names?"

"The student list," Amelia explained. "Does your brother live on-campus?"

"I don't know," Dean admitted. "I know he did last year, but he's a sophomore now..."

"Well, let's check," Amelia said, and Dean began to flip through, looking for the _W_'s. "If he does, this will tell us his address."

Dean scrolled through the list, searching until he found _Winchester, Samuel. _Next to his name there was an e-mail address and a phone number, but no address.

"There's no address," Dean lamented, handing the list back to Amelia. Stepping back, he took a moment to rub his face with his hand. Damn, but he was tired. "I didn't even think about not having his address."

Amelia handed the stack of names back to the person at the desk, before turning back to Dean. "Is there anyone you can call, who might know? A family friend, maybe? Someone Sam would have kept in contact with?"

Dean shook his head, though his mind was still wandering through the small mental list of the Winchester "family friends". That was not exactly what he would call any of them, but...

"Just a second. I gotta make a phone call," Dean said without looking at Amelia, and shot out of the tent, already dialing.

Dean put the phone up to his ear, listening to it ring. "Come on, pick up, please..."

"Hello?"

"Caleb, it's Dean Winchester," Dean said, his voice stern. He hadn't talked to Caleb in nearly as long as he hadn't talked to Sam; they hadn't exactly parted on the best of terms, either.

There was a pause, then, "Dean. What can I do for you?"

"I'm in Palo Alto. I need Sam's address," Dean said. "Do you have it?"

"I've been waiting for you to call, actually," Caleb said, and Dean could hear him rummaging through papers. "I didn't think you'd know his address."

The last sentence was said with a tone of bitterness, and Dean's patience died. "I don't give a fuck what you thought, Caleb, not now or back then. You can think all you want that I betrayed Sam and his dreams and what's best for him, but Sam's my brother, he's my family, not yours. So shove whatever your shit is where the sun don't shine, for all I give a damn about it."

There was a lingering silence on both ends. Finally Dean gave in and continued as calmly as he could, "And if you're going to hang up, go ahead, but tell me Sam's address before you do it, for his sake if not for mine."

Dean heard an audible sigh on the other end, which followed with a chuckle that broke into a laugh. "What's so goddamn funny?"

Caleb's laughter died down a little, but not much. "Hot damn, but I knew you still cared about that boy. I can't count the number of times Sam's called me, wanting to hear news about you and your dad. He thought you didn't give a shit about him anymore, and I always told him he was dead wrong about it, that Dean Winchester cared more about his brother Sammy then anything else in the world, always had, always would."

Dean sputtered, at a loss.

"It's a damn good feeling when you find out you're right on the mark, you know?" Caleb said, and Dean could hear the grin in his voice.

Dean couldn't help it; he smiled, the first real smile he'd allowed in this whole mess. "Yeah, something sort of unusual for you, eh, Caleb?"

"Hey now," Caleb's gruff voice barked. "Don't sass me anymore then you already have, or I might not give you that address you're so desperate for."

Dean's smirk vanished. "Please Caleb, I need it, Sam's life might depend on it – "

"Jesus Christ, kid, I was kidding. Of course I'll give it to you. You got a paper or something?"

"Just tell me what it is," Dean said sternly.

"Ah, okay. Sammy Winchester, apartment number seventeen, Grove Corner Complex, 197 Salvatierra Street, Palo Alto, Californ-i-a."

Dean recited it three times in his head, sure he had it memorized, before saying, "Thanks, Caleb."

"No problem, Dean. You just find your brother and get him safe, okay? And give me a damn call once in a while."

"Will do, Caleb. Bye." Dean clicked his phone shut, plucking it into his jeans pocket He had no time to lose now. Quickly, he pulled his duffel from around his shoulders, and unzipped the front pocket, the map of Stanford curling around his fingers.

With haste he unfolded it, scanning. "Salvatierra, Salvatierra, where is it, come on..."

Finally, kitty corner on the map from where Dean currently was, he spotted the small street. It was still on Stanford property, thank God, but it was also on the exact opposite side of the campus.

"Dean? Did you get his address?"

Dean turned to face Amelia. "Yeah, I got it. Thanks for everything, Amelia. I gotta get going."

"Wait a moment, Dean. Can I see your map for a moment?"

Reluctantly, Dean handed over his map. Amelia took it and promptly sat down on the grass, spreading it out, marker in hand. Dean sprawled out next to her, watching her fingers uncap the marker, his gaze questioning.

"Where does your brother live?" Amelia asked him. Dean gestured to the street on the map.

"Okay, this," Amelia circled a building called Vaden Health Center, a couple blocks from Sammy's place, "is another check-in spot, just like the one we have going on here, only smaller. There, you'll find medical help if you find Sam needs it. Now, along each road you'll see spray-painted areas on the ground in front of the buildings. I talked to one of the personnel who has been here for a while, she said that they've already gone through nearly every residential area on campus. If your brother's apartment has been checked, you'll see a giant number in green spray-paint in front of it that will tell you the number of people recovered from the building."

Dean nodded along as Amelia also circled two more spots on campus. When she didn't explain what they were right away, Dean turned to face her. Amelia glanced at him, as though wary of what she was about to tell him, before looking determinedly back at the map.

"These," she said, pointing to the two spots she'd circled, "are the makeshift morgues. Next to the green number in front of Sam's building, if it's been searched, you'll find another red number. That's the number of bodies recovered." Amelia paused, her tone switching from matter-of-fact to sympathetic. "Do you understand why I need to tell you these things, Dean?"

Dean's face was cloudy, his body taught with tension. Finally he gave a small nod. He didn't really understand, though, not really; the idea that Sam was dead wasn't an option, not when Dean had finally arrived, had gotten so far to save him. Injured, yes, Dean could deal with that. But Sammy dead...

_No. _It wasn't acceptable. Dean wouldn't allow it.

Dean gathered up the map, folding it over again and sticking it in his pocket with the cell phone. His eyes hard, he looked back at Amelia.

Amelia still looked apprehensive, but she was tough, Dean could tell. She took his hand in hers, looked into his unforgivingly cold eyes, and merely said, "You'll find him, Dean. I know it."

Dean said nothing, just squeezed her hand briefly in silent thanks before letting go and setting off.

He only had a little farther to go, but somehow these last few steps felt like the longest part of his entire journey.

---

Sam was trembling, he realized. Holding his hand inches from his face, he marveled at its ability to shake on its own. Wasn't that the aftershock's job?

"No aftershocks right now," he mumbled, before setting his hand down against his chest, next to his phone. Exhausted, he closed his eyes, letting his mind wander from this place, the dank and doom of it, his prison.

A shiver racketed up his spine, and Sam let out a surprised cry at the intensity of it. "Ah, _that's_ why I was t-t-tremblin'," he muttered, his voice hardly above a croak. "I'm cold, 's'all."

He smiled, thinking of how warm it would be when he finally got out. He didn't really know for sure if death made you warm, but he wouldn't be surprised if it did.

"W-won't be unw-welcome, either way," he said to himself, before suddenly yelping again. Something _really _cold was touching the back of his neck. "Fuck..."

Sam grimaced, turning his head to the side. "Oh, 's'just you," he said to the water as it soaked up into his floppy brown curls. He'd nearly forgotten about it, and in the meantime it had edged all the way from the middle of the tunnel to where he lay prone on the cement floor. "Don't creep up on me like that."

The harsh reality of the chilly water, however, brought Sam to a new level or awareness he'd vacated a couple hours ago.

"'s right," he stated, "I gotta get out of here. Come on, w-w-Winchester – _think_."

He fumbled for his phone again, ready to make a new attempt at contact. So far, nothing he'd tried had worked.

Twisting it in his numb fingers once again as its image blinked in and out of focus, Sam realized it was just as broken as the last time he'd done the same thing. Dean had been the handyman of the family, the one who could fix anything. Sam had never had that talent, and that was when he was in the best of health.

Pressing the cell back down against his chest, Sam wondered where Dean was right now. Was he down south, looking for a voodoo priestess? In Montana, trying to trap a black dog? Perhaps he was out on the east coast, where haunts were a dime a dozen.

"Maybe he's here, look-k-king f-for you," Sam murmured. If he closed sat completely still, he almost imagined he could hear Dean calling out for him in the wreckage, his low, gravelly voice tense and worried. Dean had the best poker face of anyone Sam knew, and Sam had learned long ago that nothing gave away Dean's worry more then his voice could.

"Man, wish I coulda called him. w-w-Woulda been nice to talk to him once more," Sam whispered, his eyes drifting shut.

The water was over two inches high now. Sam could feel it brushing against the tips of his ears. "Earplugs would be n-nice," he lamented. "I hate getting water in my ears."

It was now taking more and more effort to keep thinking, and Sam really couldn't remember why he was trying to in the first place. He was so tired. Sleeping sounded so much better.

"'n-n-Night, Jess," Sam mumbled, a slight smile on his face as the underground tunnel slowly faded away. "Love you."

---

Dean had always had a deep appreciation for California. When he had been twelve and Sam eight, John had brought the boys to live in San Diego for three months while he and Joshua had tracked a pack of werewolves. Looking back on it, Dean was pretty sure it was Sam's vague yet fond memories of those three months that had greatly factored in his decision to attend Stanford. They'd had a run-down apartment at the time, but thinking back on it Dean could hardly remember the interior or layout of the place. He and Sammy had spent all their time outside, playing chase, practicing their hunting skills, generally causing mayhem, but mostly just reveling in the hot sun and ocean breeze. The atmosphere and thrumming excitement of San Diego had created in both boys a sense of ease and calm that seemed to come so easy to all Californians. Dean didn't know of another time in his life when he'd ever felt so comfortable and relaxed.

It was those memories that made Dean's current situation so surreal now, he thought, as he navigated his way around the large pile of debris that had once been a building. Had it been someone's home, Dean wondered? Catching sight of a giant red spray-painted number twenty-seven, Dean knew it had to have been.

Right next to the number, hardly a foot away, lay the small, forlorn figure of a teddy-bear. One eye was missing and the fur was dusty, but otherwise the forgotten toy looked unharmed.

Sam had a bear like that once, Dean thought as he picked it up, poking at the small scar where the eye should have been. Linus, Sam had deemed it, after his favorite Charlie Brown comic character. He'd carried the bear everywhere with him for months after Dean had picked it out for his third birthday. Eventually it'd been lost, as often happened to their toys when Dean and Sam were growing up.

But this, this bear Dean was looking at now, this had belonged to someone. A little boy, maybe one who had dark blonde hair, cute little dimples and large hazel eyes. A little boy who may very well be just a countless number on a broken street now.

Ever since Dean had heard about the earthquake, his mind had been focused on one thing: finding Sammy. Even seeing the refugees, meeting Jess, hearing about the devastation of the roads – none of that had deterred Dean from his ultimate goal. Sure, he'd thought the situation altogether was sad, the stuff of terrifying nightmares and solemn memorials both.

But staring at the twenty-seven at his feet and the bear cradled in his palms, it all became horrifically, stunningly real. Yes, this was about Sam for _Dean_, but whatever about everybody else who had died? What about the countless children, mothers, cousins, dads, and friends who would never again enjoy the California sun again?

There was nothing Dean could do for them, but God, how he wished he could. Half his job was hunting things, but the other half – and despite all his love for the hunt, Dean's favorite half – that was saving people. And Dean could protect the innocent against many things. But earthquakes were not one of them. Disasters like this, he could do nothing for. There was no evil to exorcise, unless you counted the scorn of the earth. And that was something Dean had never been trained to fight.

Dean couldn't have protected himself against this, much less his brother. And really, had Dean ever been able to truly protect Sam? After all his worry, all his vigilance, and this was what it would come to?

"No. _No_," Dean adamantly reminded himself, as he held the bear between his hands. "You're _not_ Linus," he said to the bear, staring it down with a glare. "And this," he motioned to the twenty-seven, "will not be Sammy."

The rest of the way to Sam's apartment was set a running pace. Dean was hardly aware of time passing as he went on, jumping over and going around the endless pillars. He didn't remember taking out the map and checking it, but he was sure he must have, for suddenly he found himself on Salvatierra Street, another seemingly insignificant pile of debris before him. However, this was not just any pile of rocks to Dean.

Out of breath as he came to a stop, the teddy-bear still clutched tightly in one hand, Dean fell to his knees in exhaustion as he stared sightlessly at the dilapidated sign before him. _197 Grove Corner Complex_ it proclaimed in blue, flowing font, though Dean had to twist his head to read it properly, as it was half-covered by what had once been a brick wall.

He'd finally arrived. After twenty-four hours of non-stop stress and worry, Dean had reached his destination.

He didn't have to look far for the numbers. Directly to his left he saw a green sixteen, and like something out of a bad blockbuster drama Dean slowly came to realize that he was sitting on the red numbers.

Terrified of what he would find yet desperate beyond comparison, Dean jumped up and looked.

"No, no, no, no, no, no, _no_!"

Right next to the green sixteen, more sloppy yet just as legible, was a red sixteen. Sixteen people recovered, sixteen bodies recovered. But that meant... no, it wasn't possible. It couldn't be true.

"No, no, Sammy, God, _Sammy_..."

The teddy-bear dropped to the ground, forever forgotten, as Dean stumbled into the rubble of what had been Sam's home. Frantically he began to dig, throwing pieces of debris to his sides, heedless of the damage he was inflicting on his dry, cracked hands.

"They just missed you Sammy, 's all," he comforted his brother as he dug. "You big jerk, you're huge and yet they missed you. Used to scare me all the time when you were little, do you remember? Disappearing on me, hiding, always took forever to find you, you little brat... but I'll find you now Sam, I promise you I will. They couldn't find you, nobody else could ever find you, but you'd always be found when I was the one looking. Please, Sammy, please, SAM!"

Dean didn't know how long he dug, but the sun was high in the sky by the time he stopped, his heart throbbing in his chest, his body begging for reprieve. Looking around himself for the first time in hours, Dean had to take a moment to remember what had happened.

Once he did, he wished he hadn't.

A hopelessness like none Dean had known before was overtaking him. For a wild second, Dean wondered if this was what being truly evil was like – not only not caring if you were alive or dead, but also not caring if anybody else was either. Because for Dean, it didn't matter right now what happened to anyone else – if Sam was gone, then the rest of the world could go to shit, for all he cared. Hell, without Dean's little brother, who was everything good and bright and beautiful, it already had.

Yet, it was still here, the world was still goddamn here, and Dean was bleeding along with it in mourning.

Looking down at his weeping hands, Dean instinctively wiped them on his jeans as he lifted himself from the ground. And felt the fingers on his right hand graze a small, rectangular object in his pocket.

"My cell," Dean said noncommittally. Right now all his thoughts lay with another object; one made of iron grit and steel decisiveness, one that was far more dangerous, one Dean had wielded with all his might against all things evil, and would finally, one last time, wield against himself. Because like he had thought before, without Sam, the rest of the world could go to shit. And Dean was volunteering to be first in line.

But as Dean stumbled across the debris, back to his duffel where the lone gun he'd brought along was waiting for him, a thought unbidden formed in his mind. He couldn't leave yet, not without a last goodbye. He'd never given up on Sam before, and even though he already had now, he felt it was only right to leave him some sort of message, even if it was just "sorry I let you down" and "see you soon." And nothing, Dean chuckled heartlessly to himself, said 'appropriately tragic' like _calling_ Sam to say bye – doing the exact thing hardly a year ago Dean had forbidden Sam to do himself.

His mind numb, his fingers bleeding, Dean pulled out his phone and pressed the right buttons that would lead him to Sam. After this, he could pull the trigger. He would do this one last thing, and then he would be at peace.

---

Sam didn't realize what the ringing sound echoing in his ears was when he first heard it. It was so out of place, and Sam's mind was so fuzzy, that he nearly ignored it in favor of letting himself be pulled down into the endless black of unconsciousness again.

But something in his mind screamed at him that this was important, that he needed to be awake. Even more important, he needed to be _alert_. So, reluctantly, Sam pulled himself out of the unthinking abyss, and tried to register what was going on.

What was that ringing sound? Wait... he knew that, didn't he? It sounded so familiar...

Sam's eyes widened in surprise, and suddenly he was more alive and coherent then he'd been in hours.

"My cell," he croaked out against dry lips and an even drier throat. Sam hand shook as he grasped the plastic object in his hands, and he had a hard time hanging on to it. But this was big, this was _important_, and though Sam didn't know exactly why, he was insanely glad.

He clicked the phone on still reveling in his joy, and it was a moment before he whispered, "Hello?"

Nobody answered. Sam, not wanting to be impolite, tried again. "Hello?"

When still nobody answered him, Sam rolled his eyes and was just about to close the phone when something in his brain clicked. Squinting in the dark, Sam peered closer at his cell. Recognition of a fuzzy memory flared, and Sam slowly pulled the phone back to his ear.

"Are you still there? I, I can't hear you. It's broken."

Only silence met him, but this time Sam wasn't surprised. He didn't know who it was, but he knew he should trust them. He couldn't remember exactly why anymore, but he remembered enough to know he was in trouble.

"Listen, whoever you are. I need help. Something... happened. Something bad. I need help. Please."

Huh, he wasn't even stuttering from the cold anymore. Funny, he felt quite warm now.

Just then another aftershock hit, and Sam's weak fingers dropped his cell. With great effort, Sam maneuvered his hand to retrieve it, but the movement jarred his ribs and left arm and he screamed in pain. He hadn't felt anything but numb for a while, and the sudden reminder that he was injured did nothing but make him more disoriented and unfocused.

Still, his muscles didn't forget their command, and he held the cell up to his mouth before he remembered what it was for.

"Please, help me. Please, Dean, help me."

The aftershock ended with one last large jolt, and Sam's attention jumped from the phone to his legs as a sudden heat flared in them. Something had shifted and oh God it hurt, Sam was screaming again, he was screaming and he couldn't stop and he just wanted to pass out and go away once more where the cold and dark and deep couldn't find him, ever again.

"Dean," he cried out with one last pitiful whimper as everything began to fade.

With one last sigh, Sam succumbed and descended into the nothingness, uncaring of where it led him, even to his death.


	5. Chapter Four

_A/N: Thank you to everyone who reviewed chapter three! You guys continue to amaze and humble me with your positive feedback. _

_PS The mentioned quote in this chapter is from the movie 'Dirty Harry'. _

_---_

**Faults** by Starliteyes17

Chapter Four

---

"Hello?"

When the gritty croak comes through the phone, Dean nearly dropped it in shock. He was supposed to leave a message, wasn't he? Sam was supposed to be dead, luck wasn't ever with the Winchesters, sixteen people, sixteen bodies, it wasn't possible, couldn't be –

"_Sammy_?" he choked out finally, the word both foreign and familiar on his tongue. There wasn't an answer right away, and Dean nearly keeled over in desperation. "Sammy? Is that you?"

"Hello?"

"It _is _you!" Dean fell to his knees, his breaths heaving, his mind hardly comprehending his good fortune. "Sammy, you scared me, man, you have no idea how I – " Dean cut off, memories of what he had been about to do, now already a shameful accusation in his mind. Here he'd been all ready to off himself, and... Dean couldn't even contemplate how stupid he'd been. A stubborn ass to the end, just like his brother and father, a Winchester through and through. So maybe it wasn't a surprise at all.

"Sammy, listen dude, where are you? Are you okay? Are you still in Palo Alto? Because you'll never guess where I am right – "

"Are you still there? I... I can't hear you."

Dean frowned. "Can you hear me now, Sam? Where are you? Sam?"

"It's broken."

Dean licked his lips. He didn't like the sound of Sam's voice so much anymore. It sounded slurred and exhausted, like Sam was drunk. He also came to realize that in between Sam's words, he could hear ragged breaths, as though Sam had just finished running a long distance. It scared him beyond belief that he didn't know if Sam could hear him at all. Did he even know it was Dean on the other end?

"Sam, it's Dean, man, your brother. I'm in Palo Alto, I'm trying to find you."

There was a continued silence, and Dean nearly burst in his impatience. "Sam, answer me, goddamn it! _Please_."

Dean knew Sam was still there, he could hear his breathing. After a few seconds, a whisper came out.

"Listen, whoever you are. I need help. Something..."

Sam trailed off, and Dean tentatively asked, "Sammy?"

"...happened. Something bad. I need help. _Please_."

Hearing his brother echoing Dean's own begs made him go slightly over the edge, and Dean quickly switched right into big-brother mode.

"Okay Sam, I can help you, but I need to know where you're at. Come on, buddy, where are you, what – "

Right then a tremor hit, and Dean felt himself being involuntarily jostled back and forth like a puppet on strings. If he hadn't already been on his knees, he'd have fallen flat on his butt.

Though the noise level was tremendous, it was also tolerable, and Dean pressed his phone harder against his ear. He was pretty sure he could hear a scuffling sound on the other side. "Sam, can you feel that? Are you there, Sammy?"

A scream was the only answer Dean received, and he nearly dropped his phone all over again. "SAM!"

It was hardly a whisper, and completely mumbled, but even through the deafening sound of the aftershock Dean heard Sam's words.

"Please. Help me. _Please_, Dean, help me!"

Dean drew in a heavy breath. "I'm coming Sammy, just hang on kiddo. Hang on, you hear me?"

With one last large tremor the aftershock ended, and as silence surrounded Dean on his end, he simultaneously heard a large shifting on the other. It sounded like rocks or boulders, but Dean couldn't be sure. "Sammy, answer me, man."

Sam's only response was a sudden keening, one that Dean instantly connected to the shifting noise he had just heard. Sam was screaming out pain, Dean was sure. He knew those distinct sounds over the years. But those times, it had been in person, and Dean had been right there to help Sam, to save him. Now, Dean had no idea where Sam was, and the situation felt ten times worse.

Dean tried to calm Sam over the screams, just as he had done dozens of times before. "Sam, calm down, it's going to be okay, take deep breaths, I'm going to find you Sam, I promise you, I'll find you."

Sam's cries slowly died down to whimpers, but Dean didn't know if that meant the pain was receding, or Sam was passing out. The thought of Sam dropping into unconsciousness right now – being alone and unable to defend himself – was Dean's worst fear, and not even knowing for sure if it was coming true was the most terrible torture he'd ever endured.

"Sammy, please say something," Dean cried, tears beginning to bead in the corners of his eyes. "Please, man, tell me where you _are_."

"_Dean_."

It was quiet, but pleading and desperate. It cleaved Dean's soul in half to hear, and not only because of Sam's apparently plight, but also because it sickened him to realize it was exactly what he'd been wanting to hear this past year. Hadn't he wished for this, every night since Sam had left? For Sam to beg and plead for Dean to come to his little brother's rescue? For Dean to be _needed_ again, in the way he'd always thought he had been, until the day Sam had walked away and didn't look back? Well, if Sam had ever needed Dean before, he needed him more now. Dean had finally gotten his wish.

The irony of it all turned Dean's stomach to ice, and he nearly retched. But there was no time to feel sorry for himself, not when Sam might be hurt somewhere. Not when Sammy might be dying.

"Sam, I'm here, little brother, you're going to be okay, I'm going to take care of you," Dean was rambling. He didn't care. "That's my job, right? Looking out for you, my pain-in-the-ass little brother? Sam? _Sammy_?"

The connection broke.

---

There was no time left to waste, no time to worry. There was only time for action, and Dean could do that. When it came to Sam, he was action-_packed_.

After all, Sam was alive, Dean knew it for sure now, and that thought alone allowed more hope then Dean had let himself have in over a day. Sure, he'd promised himself he'd find Sam, that his little brother would be okay. But underneath that, a deep pit of uncertainty had lingered, one that Dean had outright ignored, hell maybe he hadn't even known it was there until he heard Sam's voice. Just hearing Sam had made that pit disappear. Dean had never thought emptiness could weigh so much, until he lost it.

Dean dialed Bobby as he stood up from his place on the ground. The gruff man surprisingly picked up after the first ring.

"Dean, what the hell have you been doing, boy? I've been trying to get a hold of you for hours! Keep your goddamn phone _on_ from now on, you hear?"

Dean licked his lips. He knew that tone. "What'd you learn, Bobby?"

Bobby sighed and took a deep breath, a nonverbal reprimand if Dean had ever heard one, but it was quickly followed by an answer. "I talked to Jim, like I told you. That man has contacts like nobody else. He called me back about three hours ago, said a friend of his had done a grid search for Sam's cell signal. Dean, they got a location on it."

Dean could hardly believe it. Twenty years of bad luck, and suddenly everything (almost) seemed to be going in favor of the Winchesters. "Where is it, Bobby?"

"It's still in Palo Alto, but I also talked to Caleb and found out the signal's not coming from Sam's place."

Dean squinted, glancing back at the pile of debris and thinking of what it had felt like to see the pair of sixteens painted beneath his feet. "Yeah, I know, I... I've been there already. Where's the signal?"

"The juncture of Hanover Street and College Avenue. Near smack dab in the middle of the two, actually. Not far from a school, Escondido Elementary."

"Thanks, Bobby," Dean said, and he'd never been more sincere. "Call Pastor Jim, tell him thanks for me, will you? I'd give him a call myself, but..."

"Sure thing, Dean. I'll tell him you and Sam will call when you get the chance."

Dean smiled. The simple addition of Sam to that sentence meant more to him then he cared to admit, but he was pretty sure Bobby knew all the same. "You tell him that," Dean said in lieu of a goodbye, and promptly cut the call. He couldn't afford to get all mushy now – he'd save that for when he had an audience who would appreciate it, hell, probably tease him endlessly about it. Dean didn't think he'd mind even if Sam did, as long as it meant Sam was alive to tell him so.

Dean started running, taking out the map as he went. He hoped he was going in the right direction. Looking at the map, he realized he was. In fact, Hanover and College Avenue were only a couple blocks away, probably less then a mile, and still on Stanford property. As he ran on, Dean wondered what Sam had been doing all the way over there at three in the morning. And in the middle of the road, too. Perhaps he'd just been leaving from a party?

Dean shook his head. "No way, Sammy, you're too much a prude for that sort of thing," Dean said aloud, chuckling. "Just wait, buddy. I'm coming."

It was little to no time later that Dean stumbled to a stop, leaning forward to catch his breath. On one corner he saw an old street sign toppled over. It was green, but across it in giant white letters it read HANOVER. On a little green sign directly below that one, were the words COLLEGE AVE.

Dean had found it, he was here. But where was Sammy?

Bobby had said it was practically in the middle of the juncture. Dean ran as close to the middle as he could get, and as he walked there, he came to realize that entirety of the Hanover Street road was split down the middle. It parted away from itself, but Dean could see how the road had once blended, the jagged edges of the concrete like two puzzle pieces that could fit together if someone tried them.

Dean tried to look down in the crevice, but it was filled with debris from what had once been the surrounding buildings. With lurched with the sudden realization. Sam's cell was located somewhere here, and Sam was with it. But if he wasn't above, on the street, then he had to be _below_.

"Damn," Dean whispered, looking around for any holes in the parted road. Sam being buried underground presented a lot more problems then Dean had anticipated. For one, Sam could be five feet below or fifty, there was really no way of knowing. Dean expected it wasn't too deep, or else the signal probably couldn't have been picked up. But still, who knew how tight of a space Sam was in? What if he was running out of air? And he had screamed so desperately; Dean knew he had to be seriously injured.

Dean looked around for others. Perhaps there was a rescue crew nearby who could help him out with digging? But there was nobody; the street was silent and empty except for Dean. And Dean knew the rescue crews were probably more concerned with saving as many people as possible. They wouldn't stop their other operations just to go after one person, especially someone they weren't sure was still alive. No, Dean was on his own in this.

---

The top layer of debris that covered the crevice was brick; Dean could move that easily enough. As best as he could, Dean guessed the middle point of the juncture, and then promptly set to work. As he pulled more and more bricks out, the tiny pile slowly growing besides him, he would call out to Sam every few minutes. When he'd get no answer, he'd keep digging, trying not to think about what that might mean.

After about an hour, he hit something more solid. It was larger debris, probably pieces of concrete from the road. Dean was getting closer, he could tell. With strength he didn't know he had, Dean started lifting the rocks out of the hole he was creating. The work was back-breaking; he guessed most of the boulders were a hundred or more pounds. But he didn't stop for anything, not even for a drink of water. Who knew how dehydrated Sam might be when Dean found him, after all? He'd sounded pretty dry on the phone.

Slowly but surely, Dean was making a dent. With every section of debris he cleared, he reminded himself that he was that much closer to Sam. It had been nearly thirty-six hours since the earthquake when Dean started digging; it was going on forty-two now. Still Dean kept going.

It got to the point where Dean could no longer lift the boulders – he had to start bodily clearing them to the side instead, trying to clear a path downwards. Though the work was only getting harder, and Dean was only getting more tired, his heart felt consistently lighter. Because larger debris meant he was getting closer to the bottom, and closer to the bottom meant he was getting closer to Sam.

Finally, just going on the forty-third hour, Dean removed a rock, but instead of more debris underneath he saw an opening.

"Sam!" Dean called, leaning over on his hands and knees and looking inside the hole. But only darkness answered him, and Dean muttered a curse as he pulled himself out of the eight-foot dent he'd made, grabbing for his duffel.

He returned with his flashlight, and pushed it down into the gap, trying his best to fit his head in alongside his scrunched shoulder.

"Sammy? You down here?"

As he moved the beam along the walls, he realized he'd not just found an opening – he'd found a giant, gaping, shaft. He could hear running water, and Dean realized he'd found the sewer. As Dean took a long breath, the smell reached him as well.

"Shit, that stinks," he murmured, but didn't pull his head out for air. "SAM!"

By Dean's best guess, the area appeared to be a tunnel of some sort, perhaps ten feet wide and fifty feet long. Each end of the tunnel was caved in so that the water was steadily rising from gaping hole in the wall about twenty feet down from where Dean was. The water was a murky brown color, probably due to more then the sewage. Dean figured that the sewer system had suffered quite a few breaks and leakages, and it wouldn't be far off to guess that lots of dirt and debris had further contaminated the water.

"Sam? It's Dean, dude. Answer me!" Dean moved the flashlight beam around the water. Finally, near the edge of the pile of debris he'd been digging through, he saw what he was looking for.

Dean's beam had landed on a hand, floating in the water. Frantically, Dean moved the beam up the arm, until he could focus on the face.

"_Sam!_"

Dean had done it. Dean had found Sam. He'd kept his promise.

"Thank God," Dean said. "Sam, man, look at me!"

Dean's excitement was short-lived, however, as he took in Sam's state. He appeared to be unconscious, his face pale and expressionless. Sam's torso was above water, but at his stomach he disappeared underneath the sewage water. His arms were outstretched, and Dean noted his left one was at an odd angle. On his forehead Dean could see a large bruise and open cut. The water was lapping up against his floating body, pushing him towards one wall of the tunnel. His mouth and nose weren't underwater, but Dean still couldn't tell if he was breathing. Sam looked dead.

---

"SAM!"

It took all of Dean's resolve to tear himself away from the sight of Sam and pull his head and arm out of the gap into the tunnel. As quick as he could, he scrambled out of the hole he'd dug and grabbed the entire duffel. Taking only enough time to pull his cell phone out of his pocket and deposit on the ground above, Dean dove feet-first into the gap. As fast as he could, he shimmied through, pulling the duffel after him. Then, turning the flashlight back on as he slung the bag around his shoulders, Dean began to climb down the pile of debris that had filled in the hole where he assumed Sam had originally fallen through.

Within seconds he plopped down into the dirty water, and immediately swam over to Sam's side.

"Hey Sammy," he said, his voice choking up. It'd been so long, too long since he'd seen his brother. He still couldn't believe he'd done it. But this wasn't just about finding Sam – this was about saving him.

As gentle as he could, Dean pulled Sam's torso up so that his head rested on Dean's shoulder. Gently, he pressed two fingers to Sam's neck. The yell that escaped him when he felt Sam's heartbeat underneath his fingertips was more girly then any sound he'd ever made, but that meant nothing to him as he pulled Sam close into an embrace.

"You did it, Sam," he whispered into his brother's matted hair. "You hung on until I found you."

Sam didn't answer, but the small puffs against Dean's neck were answer enough.

After a couple moments, Dean pulled out of the embrace. Careful to still keep Sam's head above water, Dean began to assess Sam's condition as best he could.

The cut above Sam's eye was red around the edges and definitely infected, but Dean figured it could be worse, considering the filth surrounding them. That could wait a bit. His left arm was also clearly dislocated, but Dean waited on that too. It was Sam's breathing that really worried him; it was shallow and far more ragged then it had been even over the phone. Carefully, Dean lifted Sam's shirt to his armpits.

"Shit," Dean muttered. Sam had extensive bruising all along his ribs, and Dean didn't doubt that a couple of them were cracked, maybe even broken. Lifting Sam up further to examine his spine and back, Dean was further infuriated to find a large gash across Sam's lower back. The infection there looked much worse then on the cut, probably because it had been submerged in the sewage.

After checking Sam's abdomen, Dean moved on to his brother's legs. Still supporting Sam, Dean leaned forward and checked Sam's legs from his thighs to his knees. He couldn't see them due to the murky water, but they felt all right. It was when he tried to reach Sam's calves that he realized exactly _why_ only half of Sam's body was floating above the water. From his knees down, Sam's legs were trapped underneath some of the rubble.

"Damn it," Dean despaired, pulling back to stand again. He looked over to the gaping hole in the side of the tunnel where the water was still pouring in. Who knew how long it would be before Sam would be fully submerged? How would Dean get him out before that happened?

Hefting Sam further onto his shoulder, Dean absentmindedly stroked Sam's hair as he considered his options. He could try to move some of the debris himself, but what if something shifted wrong and the whole thing toppled on them? However, it was that or leave to get help, but Dean couldn't do that either – he didn't even know where somebody who could help him with this could be found, and looking again at the rising water, Dean didn't think he had enough time to anyways.

Dean mentally cursed, coming to a decision. He had to try to move the rock – it was Sam's only chance. Regretfully, Dean placed Sam back on the surface of the water, careful to make sure he was still floating. As Dean let the water hold him up, he realized that instead of Sam's stomach the water level now rested at Sam's chest, just a few inches below his armpits.

"It's rising too fast," Dean mumbled. Panicking, he dove under the water, and locking his arms around Sam's legs, began to pull. He gave it three good tries, but still they wouldn't budge. Finally he came back up for air, heaving. After taking a couple seconds to catch his breath, Dean went under again, this time trying to pull at the large rocks encasing Sam's shins and feet.

They wouldn't move. Nothing would pull free, and Dean came up to the air with a curse. "Fuck!" he screamed to the tunnel, hearing it echo back and forth across the tunnel's cement walls.

After four more attempts and zero gained leverage, Dean was getting beyond panicked. The water was now up to Sam's neck where he floated; Dean guessed in less then ten minutes both his nose and mouth would be submerged and Dean would have to hold him so he could breathe. But that also meant that Dean wouldn't be able to move from his side, and if Dean couldn't even move to pull rocks away there would be little he could do to get Sam out of here at all, and they'd both die. Because Dean wouldn't leave without Sam; it just wasn't an option.

Licking his lips, Dean did one more look around the tunnel. Nothing jumped out at him until his eyes came to rest on his duffel. He smacked himself on the forehead; he hadn't even looked inside of it since he'd come down here. And it was then that the idea formed.

Dean swam over to where it was perched on the side of the rubble, and quickly unzipped it, rummaging for anything that could help. His hands skimmed over the gun, the knives, the clothes, but when they came to wrap around a solid rectangular device Dean grinned.

"Sammy, I got it!" he cried to his brother as he pulled out the dynamite. Searching desperately for the matches, he pulled away from the duffel, and holding both objects high over his head so they wouldn't get wet he scrambled back over to Sam. Carefully placing both the matches and dynamite high up on the dry part of the debris, Dean began to dig a small hole directly into the giant pile. When he reached about three feet in, he tenderly placed the dynamite as far into the little shaft as he could.

He had no idea really if this would work. There was probably a just as good, if not better, chance that the whole pile would come toppling down on them both, crushing them to death, but Dean figured that was no worse then drowning anyways. When it came down to it, he had no choice – this was the only shot left to them.

Just then another thought occurred to Dean, and he swam back over to the duffel. He searched through it until he found what he was looking for – the oxygen tank from his HazMat outfit. Then, he went back over to Sam, and carefully placed the mask around his brother's face, opening the valve so the oxygen could circulate.

There was now only one thing left to do.

Dean pulled out a match, but before doing anything more he turned to look back at Sam. He took a moment to once more, perhaps one last time, take in the features he knew so well.

"Cross your fingers, little brother," Dean said, and lit the match.

Then, quoting a line he knew Sam would appreciate if he heard it, he said, "You've got to ask yourself a question: Do I feel lucky?"

Quickly, Dean dug his hand into the hole, just lighting the dynamite as the fire licked at his fingertips. Then, he pulled his arm out and wrapped both around Sam, one hand grasping at Sam's mask so that it would stay on and he wouldn't suffocate.

Dean took one last moment to stare at the dynamite and make sure it was ignited.

"Hell yes, I feel lucky," he whispered, smiling.

With that, Dean took a deep gasp, and plunged himself and Sam under the water, the best protection he could offer them from the explosion.

Feeling Sam pressed against him as he entered the sudden silence, Dean held his breath and waited to see if they would live or die.


	6. Chapter Five

_A/N: Thank you to all who reviewed chapter four! _

**---**

**Faults** by Starliteyes17

Chapter Five

---

John Winchester had always been careful with dynamite, and had taught his boys to do the same. He kept it with his other hunting equipment as a precaution, but rarely if ever used it. His explanation for this was that not only was dynamite dangerous, but there were few situations where there were no better alternatives. Besides, explosions meant a lot of noise, and hunters are exactly the kind of guys who want attention.

As a result, Dean had also used hardly ever used dynamite in his short solo career, though he found it came in handy more often then his dad had ever let on. Once he'd used it on a rawhead in Buffalo; he'd thought he was hunting a werewolf and had been caught by surprise. Another time, he'd used it as a diversion to get away from some Utah backwoods cops. In that case, he'd taken his dad's warning and turned it on its head, using the dynamite to throw the cops off his trail instead of drawing them nearer.

Dynamite had saved his life quite a few times over the years, but right now he wasn't counting on it to save him. He was counting on it to save Sammy.

When the explosion finally happened, Dean felt a giant push fall over his whole body, like the feeling of a truck passing you by as you walk along a highway. Though he could feel the explosion, however, it was oddly juxtaposed with the utter silence around him. It took him a moment to gather his bearings, but once he felt the first couple pieces of debris toppling into the water he got it together pretty quickly.

Still underwater, Dean wrapped his arms as firmly as he could around Sam's torso, and then with all his might began to pull. Though still underwater, he almost took a breath and shouted in triumph when Sam's right foot was suddenly released from it's prison. Realizing he needed a breath, Dean quickly jumped up for air, but as he took a gasp he realized the explosion had caused a larger commotion then he'd intended. The whole place was shaking, and rocks and pieces of bricks from the walls were starting to fall from the tunnel walls and ceiling.

His mouth falling open, Dean was horrified to realize that the whole place looked like it was about to cave in. He had to get Sam out _now._

Dean didn't think he'd be able to pull Sam's left leg harder then he had already before, but the sense of panic overcoming him now gave him an extra strength he didn't think he'd ever had before. Grimacing, Dean grabbed Sam's leg and yanked as hard as he could. Sam might have a broken foot, but Dean was willing to risk just about anything now. Tightening his jaw, feeling his face scrunch up in determination, Dean gave one last extra pull on Sam's leg, and felt it come free of the debris.

With a yelp, Dean let go of Sam's thigh and moved to feel his feet. He had no idea if they were broken or cut or anything, but they were still both there and right now that was good enough for Dean. For a moment Dean closed his eyes, trying to calm down and take in the fact that he'd freed his brother. Sam was no longer trapped; Dean could finally get him out of here.

Dean was pulled out of his brief revelation when he felt a large piece of concrete slam into his stomach. With a jolt, Dean remembered that the tunnel was still shaking, and that even with Sam free, Dean still had to get him out of here before he could count his blessings.

Turning to Sam's head, Dean saw that he was still out for the count. Quickly, Dean pulled off Sam's oxygen mask, then grabbed for the duffel and stuffed it inside. Slinging the bag over his shoulder, Dean once again wrapped his arms around Sam's body.

"Come on, Sammy, help me out here," he yelled as he began to lift Sam over his shoulder into a fireman's carry. Still Sam didn't stir, and looking up Dean realized he wasn't sure if he could carry Sam all the way to the top where the hole in the ceiling was, before the whole place came down on top of them. But when it came to his brother, Dean only had two choices: save Sammy, or die trying.

His mind set, Dean gathered all his remaining strength and started the backbreaking climb over the mountain of debris. It was maybe only ten feet, but to Dean it felt like trying to reach the top of Mount Everest as he fought for every inch. The wounds on his hands reopened as he clawed his way up, his arm and leg muscles quivering with both his and Sam's weight. He grunted and panted, practically hyperventilating with the exhausting work, but every time he considered stopping to breathe he would feel the tremors beyond his body, and knew he couldn't afford to rest until he had Sam above ground.

About a foot from the whole, Dean hurt a large cracking sound behind him. Instinctively he glanced around, and saw that the small entrance from which the sewage water had been gushing forth was now a gaping crack in the wall. The water was rising a foot a second as Dean scrambled to reach the top. With his last bit of strength, Dean pulled Sam off his shoulder and began to lift him through the whole head-first.

"Ahhh..." Dean moaned as he lifted Sam's arms and finally Sam's entire torso through the opening. The water was already at Dean's feet and rising quickly as he bent Sam's legs to push them through as well.

Just as Dean was getting a hold on the edges of the opening, the entire pile of debris Sam had been buried under began to collapse. Dean was able to barely hang on as the solid rocks beneath him fell, and he was left dangling from the ceiling, the churning water now at his waste and threatening to pull him under with each inch it gained.

"Sam!" Dean cried in his desperation. "Sammy!"

As Dean glanced up at the opening, he could barely see Sam laying next to it over the edge. He couldn't tell Dean breathed hard and closed his eyes. If he was going to die, he wanted that image of Sam to be his last; to know that he'd saved his brother. Even if it meant his own death, Dean knew he'd never want it any other way.

Just as Dean was about to lose his hold, a giant hand snaked down through the hole and grabbed onto the collar of his shirt. The leverage was just enough for Dean to get a better grip on the edge, and just as the tunnel fully collapsed beneath him, Dean used his last bout of adrenaline and pulled himself out.

Dean fell out of the hole, and immediately started coughing, his whole body shaking with shock and relief. It was morning now, and the sun was barely starting to come up on the horizon. Dean's eyes pinched open and he stared at it for a second before turning to Sam, to both hug him and thank him for _finally_ waking up and helping his awesome big brother.

However, when he turned to Sam, he realized the big guy was still out cold.

"But then who...?" Dean asked, looking around, and jumped when he felt a hand land on his shoulder.

"Easy there, buddy," a familiar voice said, and Dean turned and looked.

"Rick?" he asked in disbelief.

Rick smiled. "How you feeling, Dean?"

Dean frowned; something about his voice sounded different and Dean's hunter instincts flared up. Yet, the man had just saved his life, hadn't he?

"I'm fine," he finally said, then slowly stood up, stretching his tired muscles. "What are you doing here? Shouldn't you be in San Jose?"

Rick shrugged. "Yeah, well, I got relocated. It happens."

Dean raised an eyebrow at him; he could tell the guy was lying but he didn't know why. Right now, though, Dean had more important matters. Bending down, he turned to give Sam a closer look.

The kid appeared even worse in the daylight, his face pale and his limbs devoid of movement. His left arm was grossly swollen, the cut on his head was bleeding again, and Dean didn't even want to think about if the other injuries were any worse. Either way, he had to get Sam some medical attention as soon as possible.

With strength he didn't know he still possessed, Dean lifted Sam into his arms, Sam's head cradled once more on his left shoulder with that arm cradled around his back, and his other arm holding up Sam's legs at his knees.

"Thanks, Rick," Dean said to the other man. He wanted to ask for his help, but he just couldn't bring himself to trust the guy. "I'm going to get my brother some help now."

Dean was about ten feet down the road when he heard a soft sigh directly behind him.

"I don't think that's a possibility, Dean."

---

Dean's eyes widened, not in surprise at Rick's close proximity, but in his shock at a different realization. Slowly, Dean lifted Sam to the ground, brushing his bangs from his forehead before turning to face Rick.

"How do you know my name?" Dean asked, his voice venomous. He'd told Rick his name was Eric, and though the guy had suspected otherwise, Dean had never confirmed it.

Rick smiled grotesquely, and all the blood drained from Dean face when he saw Rick's eyes turn black.

"I know a lot of things about you, Dean Winchester," the demon casually stated. "Actually, I know a lot about your entire family. Stubborn Johnny, beautiful mother Mary, and especially" – the demon's eyes glanced hungrily at Sam – "strong, special Sammy."

Dean's words were poison. "You stay away from my brother, you son of a bitch." Then, without giving the demon a chance to answer, Dean began spewing forth Latin as he ripped open his duffel, searching for the holy water.

Just as his hands clasped around the small vial, Dean felt the duffel thrown from him as he was flung through the air to land on the ground twenty feet away. His breath knocked out of him, Dean sat on the ground for a couple moments trying to gather his bearings. He was just getting back to his feet and starting up the Latin again as he felt a hand close around his neck, stealing his breath once more.

He opened his eyes to see the demon's black eyes inches from his own. "Oh Dean," the demon whispered, "don't you realize you can't win? You'd be dead already were you not so much more amusing alive. Watching you go through hell to find your brother has made for some great entertainment."

The grip on his neck loosened just enough for Dean to speak, and realizing his predicament Dean decided the best thing to do was to keep the demon talking until he could figure a way out of this mess. "How did you find me again?" he rasped out.

Rick chuckled. "I wasn't looking for you. Hunter or not, you're just a pathetic human. No, no; I was looking for your brother."

Dean's eyes widened, and that only made Rick laugh more.

"You don't know anything about your little brother, do you, Dean? He's like a beacon for my kind, has been his whole life. He'd have been possessed or even dead ages ago, were it not for... other plans."

Dean had no idea what the demon was talking about; it didn't make any sense. Sam, a supernatural beacon? Well, the kid did have a knack for attracting trouble, but...

"What are you talking about?" Dean demanded. He wasn't _actually_ taking this demon seriously; he just needed some more time. Demons lied all the time, and that was all this one was doing too.

Rick grinned, staring hard into Dean's eyes. "Ever wonder what happened the night your mother died, Dean? Ever wonder _why_ she died, her tender flesh broiling as she screamed like the whore she was?"

Dean's hands flailed as he tried to get at the demon, wanting to tear its eyes out. "Fuck you!"

Rick shrugged. "Maybe another time. For now, I have more important business. You see, those other plans I mentioned? They were a little, let's say, _upset_ when the earthquake happened. Now things have changed. He wants your brother sooner. And guess who is here to collect precious Sammy?"

Dean didn't have time to ask who _he_ was before he was once again flung, this time into a pile of debris. Dean cried out as he landed hard on a piece of wire, feeling it cut hard into his shoulder. He heard footsteps coming closer, and grappled for his knife attached at his ankle. Just as his fingers closed around the handle, however, a kick connected with his stomach and he was back on the ground, the knife now in the hands of the demon.

"Before I do take Sammy, however," the demon said over his moans, continuing his monologue as though nothing had happened, "there's just a bit of damage control I need to do. Namely, killing you."

The meaning of the words registered in Dean's mind, and he was looked up to see the demon's arm raised, knife in hand. Before Dean could react, the knife was at his throat, pressing into his jugular.

The demon smiled. "Aren't you going to ask, _why_?" he teased, pressing hard enough to draw blood. When Dean did nothing but spit in his face, the demon laughed humorlessly.

"I would tell you to ask your father, but you won't see him again until you meet in Hell. Then again, that shouldn't be too much longer, anyways. Goodbye, Dean."

Just as the demon raised his arm for the killing slash, he abruptly screamed out in pain and stumbled to the side. Dean opened his eyes to see a familiar face looking down in disgust at the demon, a half-empty vial of holy water in his hand.

"Take that, you demonic asshole," Sam said, his weak voice laced with hatred. Dean only had a moment to look at him in wonder, before Sam's eyes slowly turned to him, pleading. "Dean..."

As his baby brother's eyes rolled up in his head, Dean saw Sam was about to collapse and stepped over the demon as he caught him in his arms. Letting Sam rest on the ground, Dean grabbed the vial of holy water and flung it at the demon just as he was about to tackle Dean.

Three memorized paragraphs of Latin and the rest of the holy water later, a thick black smoke burst out of Rick's mouth and the exorcism was complete.

Dean didn't stop to make sure the real Rick was okay before he stumbled down next to his brother.

"Sam?" Dean's grin deepened as Sam tiredly opened his eyes in response. "Hey there, buddy."

Sam sluggishly swallowed before his voice came out, barely a whisper. "Dean," he began, his pupils wide with disbelief, "you're here."

Dean smirked, ignoring the tears that threatened to fall. "Yeah, well, I figured your big ass might need some saving. Jesus, Sam, what were you thinking, letting a little earthquake get you down?"

Sam chuckled weakly. "Jerk."

Dean laughed; how many times had he wondered if he'd ever hear that endearment from Sam again? And now he had, and he would again, and despite everything Dean had never felt so good. "Bitch."

With that, Sam's eyes began to close. "Woah, wait, Sam," Dean said, putting his palm on Sam's cheek, "You gotta stay awake, dude."

Sam's eyes rolled. "I can't, Dean... I'm so tired. Just lemme rest..."

"No. Sam, no!"

But Sam was out again, and Dean felt his head fall on Sam's chest in frustration.

"You need help there, man?"

Dean lifted his face to look up at Rick, who was staring down at Sam in concern.

"Aren't you going to ask me what the hell just happened?" Dean said noncommittally, checking his brother's pulse. It was faster then he'd have liked. Sam needed some help, soon.

"Yeah, well. I figure we can get Gigantor here some help first," Rick said, then handed Dean his cell, which Dean stared at for a couple seconds before lazily pocketing it. "Come on, I'll carry him. You look like you can hardly stand as it is."

---

Dean didn't remember much of the walk to Vaden Health Center. It was barely three blocks anyways, but Rick hadn't been kidding; Dean was exhausted and nearly as likely to pass out as his brother. His sense of duty to his brother was all that kept him on his feet as they stumbled through the wreckage of the streets. Just as they could start to hear voices, Dean's exhaustion won out and he fainted.

When he woke up, he found himself lying on a blue cot, an IV hooked up to his arm that was steadily dripping a clear solution into him.

"What's going on?" he slurred, glancing around at the tent he was inside. His movements picked up when he remembered Sam. Dean was just about to tear out his IV when he felt a small hand on his shoulder. He turned his head and came face-to-face with Amelia.

"Hey stranger," Amelia said, taking his IV arm in her hands. "Don't pull that out; you're dehydrated and in great need of fluids, you know."

Dean breathed hard. "Where's Sam?"

"You really do have a one-track mind, don't you?" Amelia teased as she coaxed Dean to lie back down again. When Dean complied, she continued, "Your brother is at the far end of the tent, Dean. He's being taken care of as we speak. I popped his shoulder back in myself."

"Is he going to be okay?" Dean asked, his voice taking on a pleading tone he didn't realize he still possessed.

Amelia sighed, her smile weakening. "I think he has a good chance. He's pretty beat up, all right; besides the shoulder, he has many bruises and cuts, three cracked ribs, those two nasty gashes on his head and back, a good concussion, not to mention he's slightly malnourished and more dehydrated then you, which is saying a lot."

Upon seeing Dean's face fall in worry, Amelia quickly added, "However, unless those infections in his cuts give him a tough time, I think he's on his way to a full recovery." Amelia sat down on the edge of the cot, her eyes bright. "Just what happened, Dean? Where did you find him?"

Dean looked away, than closed his eyes. "The sewer," he finally said, but stopped there. The memories of how close Sam, and then Dean himself, had been to death were still too raw, and he didn't want to continue. And Dean didn't even want to touch what the demon had said to him. It was all just too much right now.

Sensing his sadness and shock, Amelia didn't ask him to explain further, only said, "Well, that explains the smell on both of you, anyways. I had trouble finding nurses who were willing to help me with either of you until we gave you boys both baths."

Dean's eyes snapped open, and he glanced down, just now realizing he was no longer wearing his jeans and shirt, but a hospital gown. "You gave us _baths_?"

"Just sponge ones," Amelia said, her eyes lit with amusement. At Dean's horrified face, she said, "Oh jeez, boy, it's not like you have anything I haven't seen before. Now get some rest."

With that, Amelia stood and walked away, but not before turning to give Dean one last wink.

"Woah," was all Dean managed, before he decided to heed her advice and let sleep overtake him.

---

As soon as Dean was declared fit enough to get up off the cot, he immediately went and found Sam, and stayed there.

The infections were being fought off easily enough now that Sam had antibiotics, and his shoulder and ribs were healing well. Dean couldn't help but stay worried, however, as time continued to pass and still Sam didn't wake up. Amelia had to keep reassuring him that Sam's body just needed to heal, and it wasn't the concussion or something worse that was causing Sam's prolonged unconsciousness.

Dean had been at Sam's side for going on fifteen hours when a memory of a promise came back to him. Thinking of the beautiful blonde he'd met only two days ago, he fumbled around in his duffel until he came to his filthy jeans. He plucked around the pocket, eventually pulling out a small note.

His bandaged hands aching, Dean carefully unfolded it, and could hardly believe his eyes when he read the faded pen markings.

_Sam Winchester  
Number 17, 197 Grove Corner Apts.  
Palo Alto, CA_

_Call me at 502-112-1983 if you find anything. Thanks, Dean._

_-Jess Moore_

Dean spent a couple minutes just staring at the paper in his hand, trying to grasp his mind around the fact. Of all the chances, and he'd run into _Sam's_ girlfriend? Not only that, but he'd had Sam's address in his pocket this whole time?

Dean didn't know what to think about all that, except that irony really sucked. Oh, and another thing.

"She's way out of your league, man," Dean chuckled, still looking at the paper in awe.

"Who?"

Dean's eyes snapped to Sam, whose own were looking at him questioningly. Dean grinned and leaned forward.

"Hey, Sleeping Beauty," he said. "So you finally decided to grace us with your presence."

Sam licked his lips before answering. "What happened? Last thing I remember, some guys was attacking you." After a beat, Sam continued, "A demon?"

Dean nodded. "Yeah, you know how disasters like this are practically breeding grounds for the supernatural," he answered carefully. He still wasn't sure if he wanted his brother to know what the demon had said; Dean had to talk to his dad first about it. "But you came around and helped me kick his ass, you remember that?"

Sam nodded, before turning great big eyes on Dean. "How'd you get me out of there, Dean?"

Dean smirked. "Using my big brother superpowers, of course."

Sam chuckled. "You know what's kinda funny? I was just about to call you, you know. When the earthquake hit."

"What for, Sam?" Dean asked, and though his voice held no malice Sam still winced a bit.

"Just... wanted to say I was sorry, I guess. For how it all went down," Sam said, looking away from Dean.

Dean groaned inwardly, taking a moment to gather himself for what he was about to do. It wasn't unprecedented, after all, just hadn't happened for a while. Taking Sam's hand into his own bandaged ones, Dean said, "Listen Sam, this wasn't your fault. None of it was, okay? I was the one who told you not to call me, not the other way around. So if anyone is sorry, it's going to be me."

Sam's eyes looked up at Dean, studying him, and for a moment Dean was worried Sam wouldn't accept his apology. But then Sam broke out into a grin. "What have done with my brother?" he said, raising an eyebrow mockingly. When Dean smiled and threw his hand down in his own mock disgust, Sam added, "Seriously dude, when'd you turn into a girl? I can't believe I missed the hunt where that transformation occurred."

"Shut up, bitch," Dean said, but he was still smiling. He could hardly believe that three days ago he'd been in New Mexico, and not sure if he'd ever see his brother again. Now, he didn't know how he'd ever survived without having his brother around. Sam was Dean's to take care of, Dean's to protect, and no earthquake or demon or even Dean himself, was going to take that away from him. Speaking of which... "Listen, man, I gotta make a couple calls, okay? You get some rest, you hear?"

"Okay, _Dad_," Sam answered, but his eyelids were already drooping. Dean sat next to Sam until his breaths evened out, before hurrying out of the tent, his cell phone in his hand. He took a moment to check his messages, and saw he only had two. The first was from Bobby.

"Dean. Just wanted to see how you and Sam were doing. Hope everything is going all right. Haven't been able to get a hold of your daddy, you heard from him yet? Call as soon as you get this."

After another beep, the second one began. The connection was full of static, and Dean could just barely hear the low, rumbling voice beneath it.

"Dean...something big is starting to happen...I need to try and figure out what's going on. It may... Be very careful, Dean. We're all in danger."

The message ended, and Dean numbly clicked his phone shut.

_We're all in danger. _

Even in the California heat, Dean's blood chilled.


	7. Epilogue

_A/N: Okay, here's the end of the road, folks. Thanks to everyone who has read and reviewed – you guys have been amazing._

_---_

**Faults** by Starliteyes17

---

Amelia had just finished administering some more medication when Dean entered the tent. Sam was already getting groggy, but he wasn't stupid. Dean's blank face said it all; he was hiding something. Considering all the chaos that had happened in the last couple days, though, Sam really didn't think it would be fair to jump on his brother about it right now. Not to mention the fact that Dean saved his life and all.

"Hey," Sam said, grinning, as Dean sat back down. "Who'd you call?"

Dean looked away from Sam briefly, smirking. "You get some of the good stuff, little brother?" he asked when he looked back up again.

"What d'ya mean, Dean?" Sam asked. How did Dean know that?

"You're slurring like a drunk sailor, man," Dean teased. Sam thought about saying something back, but nothing good came to him. Besides, Dean was laughing and his eyes were bright and he didn't look blank at all anymore, and Sam didn't want that to go away.

"You look happy, Dean," Sam said, smiling goofily.

Dean gave him a perplexed look, one eyebrow raised, as though wondering whether he should be concerned or amused, before mumbling something.

"Wha'?" Sam asked, rubbing his eyes.

Dean glanced up at him, the tips of his ears gone red, before leaning over and ruffling Sam's hair playfully. "Nothing, dude. Hey, what about that little lady of yours?"

Sam's eyes popped open and wide. "Jess!" Sam tried to smack himself on the forehead, but totally missed and hit his cheek instead. He didn't notice, though. "Oh man, Dean! My cell, I lost it. An' I dunno what her number is – it's jus' always been in there." Sam felt like crying. "What'm I gonna do?"

"Don't worry, little brother. I took care of it for you," Dean said, pulling a note out of his pocket, before grabbing Sam's hand and carefully placing the piece of paper in his palm, curving Sam's fingers around it. "Here, you can call her when you feel better, okay?"

Sam fumbled, but managed to open the note, barely noticing his name and address as he took in Jess' cell number. Sam looked back at Dean, his gaze full of admiration. "Wow, Dean, you're the bestest big brother a guy could have, really the bestest of the best. You have no idea dude how best y'are, I love – "

"Stop right there, Sammy," Dean said sternly, though his eyes were full of mischief and maybe, Sam thought, pride. "No chick flick moments, remember?"

Sam tried to remember, but he really couldn't, and everything was spinning now. "Oh. Yeah."

Slowly Sam registered Dean's hands pushing him back against his pillow, and as he closed his eyes he even thought he felt one on his forehead. Sam chuckled weakly. "Dean, you forgot!" he reminded him, swiping weakly at Dean's hand.

Dean laughed, and Sam was pretty sure he said something in response, but Sam was too out of it by now to catch it. The last thing that registered in Sam's mind was that Dean still hadn't moved his hand, before everything faded out and he drifted away.

---

Sam woke up just as they were transferring him off the helicopter. Dean stayed at his side only long enough to tell him what the plan was, before tossing his cell to Sam and abruptly walking away. Sam chuckled; Dean hated flying, and by the green tint to his cheeks Sam was pretty sure he knew why Dean had rushed off.

Sam memorized the number in one look before punching it in. There was only one ring on the other end before a beautiful, melodic voice said, "Hello?"

Everything in Sam melted at that moment. "Jess?"

"_Sam!_ Oh my God, are you okay? What happened? Where are you?"

Sam sighed deeply, tears coming to his eyes, sending a small prayer of thanks that Dean had somehow met Jess. Dean had shrugged it off as mere coincidence when he'd explained what happened, but Sam could hardly believe that. Something good had planned it, he was sure of that. Thinking of Jess, he'd never been more sure of anything.

"I'm fine. I'm in Bakersfield with my brother; he found me down in Palo Alto. We're on our way to Needles, to pick up his car. Where are you?"

There was a pause on the other end, and Sam could tell that Jess knew he had left quite a bit out. Apparently, though, she was too relieved to inquire further for now, as she only said, "I'm in Needles right now, still trying to get in. God, Sam, it's so good to hear your voice. I thought... well, I didn't know what to think."

Sam could hear the tears in her voice, and smiled. "It's okay, babe. I'm all right. More then anything, I'm just thankful you weren't here when it happened."

Jess let out a sob. "I'd rather have been there with you, then here without you."

"What would I do without you?" Sam asked, trying to be playful, but even he could hear the truth in it.

Jess laughed. "Crash and burn."

---

It was nearly one o'clock in the morning when they pulled into the Sleep-Easy Motel in Needles.

Dean turned off the car right in front of room eight, looking away from Sam and into the shadows. Sam could feel the tension.

"Listen, man, you know how much I want to help you find Dad, but I can't right now," Sam tried one last time to explain. "Jess, who knows what she's been through in the last couple days. She needs me right now, you know?"

Dean nodded. "I understand, Sam. Even with what's happened, you still have your own life with Jess, and I get that, I do. I just... be careful, all right? You heard what Dad said."

"We're all in danger," Sam echoed softly, turning away to stare at the door to Jess' room. He thought about the families and friends and all the people who had lost someone in this tragedy. He hated that it felt like he was leaving Dean behind again. But it wasn't the same as last time - Sam wasn't going to let it be. "What do you think Dad was talking about?"

Dean shrugged. "I don't know. That's why I have to find him."

Sam took a deep breath, nodding. Silence fell between the two brothers again, but it was more comfortable. Winchesters didn't do goodbyes well, they never had, but this... this was nice.

Sam hardly heard Dean's whisper. "Hey, man, can I give you a call? When I get to Buffalo?"

Sam could tell this was Dean's way of asking for forgiveness. Even over a year later, he still felt bad about telling Sam not to call. The situation now was so similar to that one, but also different in the best of ways.

He turned to Dean, grinning. "You better call me. I don't want to have to return the favor and go get your ass out of trouble any time soon."

"As if you could, you scrawny geek," Dean scoffed. "Besides, I'm, like, invincible."

"Really? So you just had it all covered when that demon was about to split you in half, huh?"

"I'd have figured something out."

Sam laughed, shoving Dean in the shoulder. "Well, I think you're full of shit."

"Oh yeah?"

Sam had no time to duck before he was smacked across the head. "Ouch!"

"That's right, bitch. You better be glad I didn't throw you outta the car altogether."

"Jerk!" Sam answered, but he was laughing. Looking back at the door to number eight, he couldn't help but feel a little sad. It felt so good to just hang with his brother. But Jess was waiting for him.

Dean must have noticed where his gaze was, because he leaned over Sam and opened the passenger side door. "Go see your girl, hot stuff."

"Dean," Sam began, "I'm sorry, I really do want to go, but I just – "

Dean merely leaned over and flicked the tip of Sam's nose. "Jesus, Sammy, what are you, a broken record? I _get_ it. Now get out of here, before I make good on my threat to throw you out."

Sam stepped out of the car, closing the door and leaning over to look in the window. "See ya, Dean. Don't forget to call, all right?"

"Yeah, yeah. 'Bye, Sammy."

Sam watched as the Impala pulled out of the lot, its tires squealing a final goodbye as Dean drove away. Sam watched until the car was out of sight, before turning to the motel room door.

He knocked, and when he got no answer, tried the handle. To his surprise, the door was unlocked. "Jess?" he asked, pushing the old door open.

The motel room looked just like a thousand others Sam had frequented in his life, except for one difference: a bag of new clothes sat on one the beds, along with a plate of what looked like chocolate chip cookies. Sam smiled appreciatively, loving Jess all the more, before taking note of the running shower through the open bathroom door.

Sighing, Sam walked past the bed with the bag and cookies, and slumped over on the other double, leaning back and closing his eyes. He had wanted to go with Dean, yeah, but sitting in this room, knowing Jess was here too, he could feel he'd made the right decision.

Something dripped on his face just then, and Sam winced before saying smirking slightly. It was probably just Jess, hair still wet from her shower, leaning over to surprise him. He waited for the inevitable kiss, but when it didn't come slowly opened his eyes.

He didn't recognize what he saw. He didn't believe it. Jess was above him, but instead of being inches away, she was on the ceiling, and how was that?

"_Jess!_"

Sam scrambled, barely taking in the silent scream on Jess's face before a huge wave of flames erupted from behind her body, cascading across the ceiling and down all the walls.

The horror of the image was incomprehensible. "Jess!" Sam screamed, trying to stand up, pull her down from there, oh god from the _ceiling_ – "JESS!"

Suddenly there were arms wrapping around him, pulling him away, and Sam thought he heard Dean's voice yell in his ear but he had no time to think about that, because Jess, his Jess, his beautiful girlfriend was on fire, oh fuck she was burning, and Sam needed to save her, he needed Jess, oh god he needed Jess.

Sam was still screaming his denial when Dean finally pulled him all the way out of the room and to safety. His legs gave out and he cried, the air feeling cold now compared to the deadly heat that had encompassed the room. It did nothing to quench the burning in Sam's heart.

---

"Sam?"

Sam heard Dean, but he said nothing back. He could feel Dean's worried look, though. But he couldn't bring himself to answer. God, Jess. She was gone. She was _dead_. Burned alive, pinned to the ceiling, her beautiful body and life desecrated.

Sam closed his eyes, trying to fight the image away. But it wouldn't leave – it was just as burned in his mind as his love for Jess had been. Maybe stronger, even. Was this how Dad had felt, watching his house and the love of his life become nothing but ash and dust?

Because Sam had never known hurt like this could exist. He'd never known vengeance like this could exist, either.

Without looking at Dean, Sam swiveled and starting a determined walk back to the Impala. Ignoring the tears in his eyes and the steps of his brother following him, he opened the trunk and started looking through the weapons, mentally cataloguing what they were missing.

As Dean sauntered up to stand next to him, a question on his face, Sam only said, "We're low on lighter fluid."

"Sam –"

Sam shook his head, and Dean's jaw clenched. "No. Don't."

Dean slowly blinked, looked away and nodded. Sam felt his chin tremble, but fought it down and away, as deep as he could. He didn't have time to grieve. He had to find his dad. He had to get answers. He had to avenge Jess's death. He had to end this massacre in his soul. He had to... he had nothing.

"Sammy?"

Okay, maybe that wasn't entirely true. "What?"

"Let's get out of here."

"Okay." Stanford was gone. Jess was gone. This was all he had left, and damned if he was going to lose anything else. "We've got work to do."


End file.
